


Thunderrod Week 2020

by CatMeisterCoal



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Fluffy, Light Angst, M/M, Okay wayyyyyyy more angst than I intended in chapter 4, accidental move in, different ways to say "i love you", vivid dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatMeisterCoal/pseuds/CatMeisterCoal
Summary: There is nothing cohesive about these. Whenever I do things like this it's always random inspiration and chaos.1. Star2. Build3. Ropes4. Ember5. Fair6. Royal7. Adore
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Rodimus/Thunderclash
Comments: 26
Kudos: 33





	1. Star

Golden silk flutters around his frame and shining strands of the headpiece he wears dangle just in his peripherals, once again gold. Rodimus slowly blinks, staring at himself in the mirror in front of him, the image of his decorated frame befuddling him as he remains stock-still. The silks hug his torso stopping just beneath his chestplate then bloom out around his hips, another piece hugs his shoulders, narrowing to a point at the base of his neck and fan-out to frame his neck. He’s never worn anything like this, has no memory of ever wearing anything like this, and yet, here he is. Vaguely, Rodimus remembers it’s his creation day and that’s the cause for all of this fuss since he’s having a big celebration for one which both makes sense and doesn’t make sense at the same time. He doesn’t have too much time to think on that however as two, large blue hands find their way in front of him to wrap a necklace around his neck, fastening it in the back. Distracted by the glittering piece, Rodimus dismisses the strangeness in favor of admiring the round jewel set in the gold plates that lie flat below his neck. It’s a bright red with a thin, five-point star of light shining from the center that flickers as he turns in the light.

“It’s a star ruby,” a voice behind Rodimus informs him.

He turns around to find Thunderclash there smiling brightly as ever, standing out starkly in the too-bright room. Everything around Rodimus seems to be out of reach, the details slipping from pieces of furniture he knows well like wax pouring over metal but Thunderclash is clear and in sharp focus. All of Rodimus’ attention is drawn to the mech in front of him with every detail as clear as day. Thunderclash is decorated as well: dark blue silks hanging from his shoulders fastened by a bronze ornament with more draping almost casually from his hips that are fastened on one side by yet another bronze piece. Rodimus decides it suits him, his optics tracing the handsome silhouette that Thunderclash makes then stops abruptly, remembering Thunderclash had said something.

“A what?” Rodimus tries to play off his distraction but from the smile Thunderclash gives him, he knows that Thunderclash definitely noticed.

“A star ruby,” Thunderclash repeats, taking Rodimus’ hand in his, “It’s a gem meant to bolster the spark and uplift its carrier. Such a gem is considered king among gemstones.”

Thunderclash bends down into a bow and presses a kiss to the back of Rodimus’ hand, pulling back to whisper just above the plating, his vents tickling Rodimus’ hand, “Befitting one as regal as you.”

Rodimus chokes on air, feeling like the ground was suddenly pulled out from beneath him but Thunderclash is there to catch him with a strong arm curled at the base of his back. The words are caught in his intake, stinging with each vent as they struggle to fly free to mold the situation into something more familiar than this distant reality that feels almost like a memory. Magenta light captures him, burning the words away so he becomes once more at ease while igniting a churning fire within him. Rodimus feels warm, not the burning glee from when he ignites his power or the hot sting of a tragedy that’s named Nyon but a glow of a feeling that’s been so much more terrifying he’s never dared name it. Light and color shifts around Thunderclash’s head, the walls around them moving slowly like the flow of lazy streams until suddenly it’s too bright to see with the opening of large doors and he wonders when they had started walking.

He blinks through the bright light until he sees the lavishly decorated room in front of them like the halls of the large city centers he’d only ever seen from afar. Mechs cheer and greet him with well-wishes, names flickering through his mind as Rodimus looks at each one of them. To see them, he feels himself light up as bright as the chandeliers above but the taste is sharp like filtered energon, wonderful but not without the cost of the tightness that seeps into the intake. Thunderclash holds out his hand and Rodimus takes it to ground himself as another comes up and brushes Rodimus’ faceplate in a touch so gentle and light, it feels like the caress of the ghost. Then he’s being led into the center of the floor and pulled into focus once more as Thunderclash raises his hand as though cradling fine, blown glass and cups Rodimus’ hip. Rodimus swallows, stumbling into Thunderclash as his free hand finds Thunderclash’s shoulder as fireworks go off in his chest, the aftershocks traveling through him so that his fingertips tingle and that his pedes feel light.

Music swirls in the air around them and Thunderclash whisks him away into a dance. Rodimus feels laughter bubble up from his chest to ring into the air as Thunderclash lifts him into the air to spin him around then places him gracefully back onto his feet. The steps aren’t anything traditional or anything that makes sense but Rodimus doesn’t mind as Thunderclash spins him around knowing that it’s just the two of them in this dance. Rodimus’ view is filled with the joy radiating from Thunderclash, the world falling away easily as the two of them move to the melody. Thunderclash dips him and Rodimus stretches one hand to let his spark free like sunlight erupting from his frame.

“Happy Creation Day, Rodimus,” Thunderclash murmurs, his arms securing Rodimus so he couldn’t feel safer.

A million and one things come to Rodimus’ mind until all he says is a soft word that feels like a confession all on its own, “Thunderclash…”

Thunderclash’s optics turn up with that smile that has launched a thousand spaceships as he lowers himself towards Rodimus so the tips of their noses brush. Rodimus’ spark goes still at the tilt of Thunderclash’s helm then ignites anew at the brush of Thunderclash’s lips against his own. As if mapping the curve of Rodimus’ lips, Thunderclash presses slowly into Rodimus’ mouth until he’s captured them in full. Rodimus hangs from Thunderclash, far from being able to support himself with all his attention drawn to the single point of Thunderclash’s lips against his. His optics flutter shut and he lets himself fall into the embrace of Thunderclash’s arms.

Rodimus opens his optics and sees the ceiling of his habsuite and rubs the top of his helm as the details of his dream fade back into memory. He sits up wide-eyed with his spark whirling wildly as he remembers the very end of his dream, his hand flying up to his lips to trace the distant sensation. Shaking his helm, he snatches his hand away and plants it firmly on his berth which is when he feels the object clutched in his other hand. Rodimus opens his clutched fist to find a round gem sitting there, shining just like the one in his dream. Panic shoots through his chest until he remembers the day before, his actual creation day. Thunderclash had handed him a little box and when Rodimus had opened it, he explained what it meant and Rodimus’ psyche had supplied the last line dream Thunderclash gave. It was only a friendly gift that had been far too beautiful and genuinely touching to throw away in a petty fit.

Looking at the gem in the reality of morning now makes something twist painfully in Rodimus’ spark so he covers it with both hands, reluctant to put it down. He’d slept with the damn thing and it had given him weird dreams. Dreams where Thunderclash would look only at him, hold him like he was something precious, and kiss him as though he’d never be able to again.

Rodimus falls back onto his berth, covering his optics with one arm to bite out, “Frag.”

Weird dreams or not, he still has to get up and face the day. He still has a job to do. That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it and certainly communicates such as he stomps out onto the bridge to take his place in front of the captain’s chair. People notice because of course they do but they don’t say anything to him, likely thinking better of it with how he can get. Rodimus sighs and apologizes to Pipes for the sarcastic jab he made, kicking himself for taking out his frustration on them.

“Rodimus,” Minimus calls over, and Rodimus hums in affirmation, “Perhaps you should take the morning off until you’re feeling better.”

Rodimus snaps his attention to him and Minimus has the sense of self to be noticeably embarrassed.

“I only mean… it’s unusual for one to be so down after their creation day,” Minimus explains, setting down his datapad, “I wish to be a better second-in-command to you, Rodimus. I only want you to take care of yourself.”

Rodimus’ shoulders go slack at that.

“Yeah, maybe a few hours to cool off would be good,” Rodimus’ hand lingers over his subspace, “Could you message Megs to let him know I’ll be taking the afternoon shift instead?”

Minimus offers him a small and nods. With that taken care of, Rodimus leaves the bridge and wanders around the ship, reluctant to go back to his hab and face his dream again. Eventually, he finds himself on the observation deck, gazing through the large windows. His optics refocus so instead of the nebula, he’s looking at his own reflection in the glass, his own tired expression looking back at him. Rodimus takes out the gem from his subspace and looks at in the darkness, the star only flickering to life upon the occasional twist in the right direction so it catches the low light of the emergency lights by his pedes. As he looks at it, his thoughts are drawn back to his dream, how it looked then, and how it felt to have it put on him. The vision of Thunderclash before him fills his sight as he thinks about how he felt when the Thunderclash in his dream kissed him. Rodimus unconsciously presses the gem to his lips as he becomes lost in thought.

“Rodimus?”

Rodimus turns at the sound of his name, the gem still pressed to his lips. Thunderclash is standing in front of him and he watches as Thunderclash’s optics move from his face to the gem at his lips. Realizing what he’s doing, Rodimus snatches the gem from his lips and clutches it in his hand so it’s out of sight.

“You like my gift then, I take it?” Thunderclash teases fondly and Rodimus hopes he doesn’t read too much into it.

“Yeah, it’s pretty,” Rodimus concedes, willing to take the easy diversion Thunderclash had offered him.

Thunderclash looks out the window briefly then back to Rodimus, “Minimus said you had been in a rather poor mood.”

It was a foolish hope to think Thunderclash would be distracted so easily.

“I woke up in a bad mood,” Rodimus shrugs, looking back to the window to look at anything other than Thunderclash.

Thunderclash takes his time to come up with something to say before landing on, “What were you thinking about just now?”

Rodimus doesn’t react right away, opening his hand to look at the gem again, the ghosts of the feelings of his dream lingering around it.

“I want to get it turned into a necklace,” Rodimus says suddenly, surprising even himself.

Thunderclash blinks rapidly then clears his intake, “You do?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus reaffirms with more conviction this time, smiling at the gem, “I want to be able to have it around all the time.”

“Ah,” Thunderclash folds his hands behind his back, looking down at the gem as well, “What did you have in mind?”

Rodimus lifts it to the base of his neck, “Right here, embedded in a gold plate. Don’t you think that would make it pop?”

Thunderclash keeps his optics on the gem, his expression flat as he nods, “You would look stunning.”

Thunderclash’s optics meet Rodimus’ as Rodimus covers the gem up with his hand, keeping it held against his chest. They stare at each other in silence, one giving nothing away to the other.

Rodimus shifts his weight on his pedes and tilts his helm, “I was feeling… less than ideal before.”

“Before? If you want to talk…” Thunderclash offers then trails off and shuts his mouth with an audible click.

Rodimus smirks playfully, “I had a dream that was confusing and I don’t think I really knew how to feel about it. That was really annoying.”

Thunderclash gives a sympathetic nod, “The subconscious can throw a lot of confusing things at you. Sometimes things you’d rather not dwell on.”

“It’s more…” Rodimus sighs in frustration with himself then he continues, “I think I’m afraid that it won’t come true.”

“That is frustrating,” Thunderclash relaxes his stance, offering Rodimus another sympathetic look, “If I can help you in any way, even if it’s something small, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

Rodimus fiddles with the gem then he steps closer to Thunderclash to which the larger mech noticeably tenses.

“Actually, I think there is something you can do.”

Thunderclash perks up at that, “Oh?”

“When I have this made into a necklace, I want you to put it on me,” Rodimus reaches out slowly with his free hand so it hovers low between them.

“When you first get it?” Thunderclash’s optics flicker between Rodimus’ face and hand.

“No,” Rodimus’ hand brushes Thunderclash’s, the touch capturing Thunderclash’s optics completely, “Every day.”

“I’d be happy to of course,” Thunderclash is thoroughly distracted by Rodimus’ hand in his, studying it in quiet bafflement, “but our habs are a bit of a distance from each other and our shifts…” Thunderclash lifts his helm back up to meet Rodimus’ optics and his words slow down to a trickle as he finishes his thought, “...don’t always line up.”

Rodimus puts the gem back in his subspace and steps even closer to Thunderclash to whisper, “Then I guess we’ll have to remove the distance between us.”

“Rodimus,” Thunderclash gasps.

Rodimus hums in response.

“If you want me to put that necklace on you every day…” Thunderclash lowers his helm as Rodimus tilts his up.

“Yes?” Rodimus pulls Thunderclash lower until they can feel each other’s vents on their lips.

“Then I want to be the one to take it off every night as well.”

Rodimus smiles wide, “Deal.”

Their lips meet and for a moment Rodimus worries dreaming again until Thunderclash lifts him and presses him against the window, the chilled glass shocks him for a moment making him gasp before sinking back into the kiss. It’s much deeper than his dream, with Thunderclash’s glossa slipping between his lips and meeting his. Rodimus pulls Thunderclash’s helm closer, desperate for more and unwilling to let him slip away now. Thunderclash squeezes Rodimus’ hips and he moans into Thunderclash’s mouth before gasping abruptly and pulling away, his face heating up in embarrassment. They stare at each other, both of their vents clouding the air with steam.

“I, um,” Rodimus says smartly.

Thunderclash continues to stare at him, his expression open and a little stunned.

“You-” Rodimus tries to talk again but is cut off by Thunderclash pressing a kiss to his cheek before nuzzling into his neck.

“I never thought I’d hear that,” Thunderclash whispers, his pure glee seeping through his voice.

Rodimus makes a soft noise of reproach then hides his face against Thunderclash, clinging to him.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Rodimus insists making Thunderclash chuckle, the deep sound reverberating through Rodimus’ entire frame.

He bites back a gasp, unwilling to let Thunderclash know just how good it feels to have him this close. Thunderclash pulls back and set Rodimus down, smiling goofily. Rodimus tries to be mad but with all of that directed towards him, he fails miserably.

“I know but that’s what makes all the more wonderful,” Thunderclash runs his thumb over Rodimus’ cheek affectionately and Rodimus feels his spark stutter.

He pulls away from Thunderclash and coughs to pass off his rising embarrassment, “Well, the next shift is starting soon so I better get back.”

“Yes, duty comes first after all,” Thunderclash doesn’t even try to wipe off the look on his face.

Rodimus walks stiffly away, not turning to look back Thunderclash only to stop at the door.

Quickly, over his shoulder, Rodimus says, “I hope I see you in my hab tonight.”

Thunderclash’s optics widen then he smiles wide enough his face had to hurt, “See you then.”

Rodimus walks schools his expression just long enough to walk a little way down the hall before breaking into a large smile with a giddy feeling in his spark.


	2. Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash slowly sneaks his way into Rodimus' spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams pans together* this chapter got too long! this wasn't supposed to happen! what have I done!?
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoy<3

It started with a stylus. Rodimus had finally gotten the willpower to neaten up his hab suite and had asked around for anyone who’d help him out. It’s always so boring for him to do that kind of thing on his own, even if all they did was pick up a few things while keeping him company that’d be fine. Really, he just wanted the company while he trudged through the large piles of junk and clutter in his hab suite. When he’d asked around if anyone would be willing to help him, he’d gotten a very enthusiastic and immediate response from Thunderclash who also happened to be the first one to pipe up. Rodimus hadn’t even really directed the question to him so he probably just overheard and like the perfect, kind, helpful, perfect mech he is, Thunderclash just had to hop in and help him out. Trying to be a better captain and to temper his animosity towards the mech, Rodimus had agreed albeit reluctantly, insisting that if Thunderclash was busy or was just offering to be polite he really didn’t have to. No, that wasn’t Thunderclash’s style so, of course, he insisted he help.

That’s how he wound up with an eager Thunderclash helping divide the clutter into piles and sorting through it all until the mess became much tamer and it became just an issue of putting everything away. Rodimus wouldn’t admit it aloud but Thunderclash made the ever-tedious task of cleaning kind of fun as he chatted away about what some items reminded him of. Thunderclash told him about a day when he was at the academy when he and Ratchet almost got caught in pulling a prank that involved ten canisters of fire-retardant foam, a borrowed floor waxer, and too much free time when he picked came across the fire extinguisher Ultra Magnus had given Rodimus at the start of the voyage. The story nearly had Rodimus rolling on the floor with how hard he was laughing. By the end of it, Rodimus had completely forgotten why he was so reluctant to let Thunderclash help and was telling a few stories of his own.

“Well, I better get going,” Thunderclash says with his hands on his hips, looking around the now much cleaner room, “I’ve got to get to my shift but this was fun.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus muses as he taps his berth thoughtfully, a small smile curling his lips, “Thanks for helping out.”

“My pleasure,” Thunderclash flashes that award-winning smile of his and picks up his datapad, “I’ll see around then.”

“See you,” Rodimus waves as Thunderclash steps through the door.

Rodimus looks around his hab which now feels a little too empty after having been so used to the mess that had covered the entire floor. As he looks around, his optics catch one item out of place and picks it up. It’s a stylus, the one that Thunderclash had brought with him. Twirling the stylus in his hand, Rodimus thinks of chasing down Thunderclash to give it back to him but then sets it down, figuring he can just return it to him later. Rodimus sets the stylus down on his desk and leaves to get some fuel, hoping the company will ease his discomfort with the now very spacious habsuite.

Rodimus doesn’t remember to return the stylus. It sits there until he complains about having a rough time concentrating on doing his forms and Thunderclash offers his help. Thunderclash notices the stylus and actually apologizes for having forgotten it the first time around but Rodimus waves him off. The two of them set down at the desk, Thunderclash pulling a chair over so he can sit next to Rodimus as they go over the forms he needs to fill out. Thunderclash had brought some of his own work so they could work together, falling into a comfortable silence broken only a few times as Thunderclash nudges Rodimus’ attention back to his work or idle conversation about nothing at all.

“How did you keep up with all of this when you were a captain?” Rodimus groans, resting his head on the desk after going through thirty-two datapads with still twelve more to go.

Thunderclash laughs good-naturedly and shrugs, “I had a good second-in-command who knew how to keep me from slacking off. Also, I guess my habits from the academy never really wore off.”

Rodimus turns his head so he’s resting on his cheek so he can look at Thunderclash, “You really needed help with that sort of thing?”

Thunderclash sets his datapad aside and quirks his brow at Rodimus, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re the Greatest Autobot Who Ever Lived,” Rodimus points at him, “You’re mister perfect.”

Thunderclash’s optics widen for an instant then he laughs it off, “Ugh, I can hear the capitalization in your voice.”

“Everyone knows you are, don’t try to play it off,” Rodimus sits up and crosses his arms giving Thunderclash a rather unimpressed look.  
“I don’t really…”

Rodimus squints at him.

Thunderclash sighs, “It really wasn’t as easy for me as people make it out to be. I have my bad days like everybody else.”

Humming at that, Rodimus reclines, looking at his remaining datapads with extreme disinterest but picks one up anyway with grim resignation only to be distracted by a soft chuckle next to him. Seeing the source to in fact be Thunderclash who now looks like he’d been caught, Rodimus sends him a quizzical look.

“Ah,” Thunderclash looks away with a shy smile, “I’ve just never seen anyone look at a datapad with that much disdain before.”

“I’ve never had much reason to hate datapads before becoming a captain,” Rodimus drones and Thunderclash chuckles again.

“Then let’s try to get through this as fast as we can.”

“Agreed.”

They work through it together at that point with Rodimus’ processor having become nearly numb after the number of datapads he’s gone through and Thunderclash helpfully pointing out key pieces of info here and there. As they work through datapad after datapad, Rodimus slumps to one side until his helm bumps something and he looks to find Thunderclash’s chest to be the offending barrier. Suddenly, he becomes much more aware of their position, noticing Thunderclash’s arm resting casually on the back of Rodimus’ chair and their helms tilted close to each other’s. Once he’s noticed, he can’t ignore the fact that he can feel Thunderclash’s vents as he talks or the warm presence that’s completely enveloping. Rodimus’ frame grows warm, unsure what to do, and thoroughly distracted as Thunderclash walks him through the forms step by step, responding to each question he barely processes with a hum. Thunderclash doesn’t notice or doesn’t seem to mind until they reach the end of the stack and he stretches his arms up, easing his struts after being in one position for so long. Rodimus feels like he can vent again and discreetly moves his chair a small distance away.

“It’s getting late,” Thunderclash mutters.

“Yeah,” Rodimus says, clearing his intake when he hears his own static-ridden voice, “We should probably get to recharge.”

Thunderclash pauses at that, looking in the distance thinking about something and just as Rodimus is about to ask him what’s wrong he starts collecting up his datapads and stands up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Thunderclash opts for just a friendly smile with his hands full of datapads.

“Yeah,” Rodimus says, distracted by Thunderclash’s behavior, “See you.”

Sitting for a while after Thunderclash leaves, Rodimus lets his thoughts drift, thinking about nothing of consequence before finally deciding to get up and head to recharge. As he gets up he spots the stylus that Thunderclash has now forgotten a second time and now it’s accompanied by two datapads albeit personal datapads so they’re nothing of consequence. Rodimus shrugs it off, putting it away as a problem to deal with tomorrow and goes to recharge.

Thunderclash apologizes profusely when he discovers that he left his things in Rodimus’ room again when he comes over to help Rodimus fix a shelf he broke accidentally. It was totally an accident where he wasn’t doing anything dangerous he swears just ignores the scorch marks and the nearby board that he commissioned from Brainstorm that now has a sizable dent in it. None of that is mentioned by Thunderclash as he patiently helps Rodimus take out the broken pieces of the shelf, removing the dented metal and slotting in new pieces to bolt in. They chat comfortably as they or really Thunderclash works on the shelf and Rodimus doesn’t feel as mortified as he thought he’d feel by his mistake. Before he knows it, Thunderclash is done and standing up to admire his handiwork.

“Well, that should do it,” Thunderclash beams.

Rodimus can’t help but smile back, “Thanks for helping me with this, I owe you.”

Thunderclash waves him off, “I really didn’t have anything to do so this was nice. I would’ve been bored otherwise.”

“Fixing a shelf is hardly what I’d call fun,” Rodimus scoffs as Thunderclash pushes the shelf back into place.

As Thunderclash starts putting the strewn items back on the shelves he off-handedly says, “You made it fun.”

“Oh,” is all Rodimus can think to say as he watches Thunderclash put his things back for a moment, watching the ease with which he picks up some of the heavier items.

It’s like they don’t weigh anything to him at all as he barely strains a strut picking up Rodimus’ odd bits and ends. He shakes himself from his distracted state and helps Thunderclash with putting everything away. With the two of them working together it takes barely any time at all.

“There we are,” Thunderclash pats his knees before standing up to admire their work.

“Thanks again,” Rodimus looks up to Thunderclash from the floor, “You really saved me a scolding from Minimus. Seriously, let me pay you back. You’ve been helping me so much lately.”

Thunderclash looks down at him fondly but shakes his head, “Really, it’s been no trouble at all. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Rodimus slumps his shoulders, “If you insist…”

Hesitating, Thunderclash rolls his shoulders and looks off to the side looking a bit troubled.

“I suppose…”

Rodimus perks up, waiting intently for Thunderclash’s request.

“It’s a bit selfish,” Thunderclash rubs the back of his helm, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I don’t think I’ll mind,” Rodimus raises one hand in a half shrug.

Thunderclash bites his lip, considering his request for a moment then, while not meeting Rodimus’ optics, he confesses, “I got a new vid recently… It’s a copy of a Praxian opera that I always wanted to see before the war but I didn’t want to watch it alone so I haven’t yet. No one really seems interested so…”

Rodimus stands up and brushes of his knees, “I can’t promise I’ll stay awake through all of it but I’m all for trying new things. I’ve never watched an opera before.”

At that, Thunderclash absolutely lights up to the point where Rodimus swears he might actually go blind.

“You’ll watch it with me?”

Thunderclash says it so eagerly and earnestly that Rodimus can’t keep the smile off his face; he’s like a newly forged who was told he’s getting his first upgrades. It’s sweet.

“Sure, it’s the least I can do,” Rodimus pats him casually.

“When are you free?” Thunderclash asks, taking Rodimus’ hand without thinking.

“Uh, I can do tonight? I’ve got late shift tomorrow and the next and then any night after that is fine,” Rodimus’ optics slowly drag to where Thunderclash is holding his hand.

“Great!” Thunderclash exclaims then waves as he leaves, “I’ll see you tonight then.”

Rodimus waves as he leaves then looks back at his shelf, newly restored and sitting innocently as though nothing happened. That’s when he spots Thunderclash’s toolkit sitting on the floor in the middle of his room. Thunderclash must have gotten so excited that he didn’t notice that he was leaving it behind. Laughing to himself, Rodimus goes over and picks up the loose tools back into their place in the kit then takes it over to where the shelves meet in one corner of the hab and he sets down the kit next to the stylus and datapads still taking residence here. He settles them all neatly there to wait for Thunderclash to finally retrieve them. It’s not that big of a deal for them to be there a little longer since if Thunderclash really needed them he could just ask Rodimus for them.

Rodimus completely forgets about the items by the time night comes and Thunderclash is at his door with dataslug and windscreen in hand. They settle against one wall and as Thunderclash sets up the vid, Rodimus snags some snacks from his personal stockpile to share. Thankfully, the vid has subtitles otherwise Rodimus doesn’t think he’d be able to keep up with the plot since the singing is in an old Praxian dialect. Even so, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t catch some of the finer points but he does get a general idea: that the main character has fallen out of grace with Primus and must atone by going through three trials. The singing is really nice, melodic and wistful even at the low points of the story when the main character sings in low baritones. Despite his best efforts, Rodimus feels himself drifting off and the warm, comforting surface under his cheek certainly doesn’t help him stay awake.

When he wakes up, Rodimus is still against one wall with the screen glowing softly in the darkness of his hab. He blinks rapidly in an attempt to bring himself further out of recharge and feels a weight draped over his shoulders. As it turns out, Thunderclash had fallen into recharge as well and was now holding Rodimus to his side with his head loled back against one shoulder. Rodimus goes stiff, not sure what to do. Thunderclash relieves him of having to make a decision by rousing awake with a soft groan. He looks down to find Rodimus looking up at him and jumps in surprise.

“Heh,” Rodimus clears his intake, “I guess we both fell into recharge.”

Thunderclash grins bashfully, “I suppose we did. Sorry, I guess it wasn’t as interesting as I hoped it would be.”

“No, it was fine,” Rodimus assures him while straightening up to stretch out his cables, “We both had a long workday, that’s all.”

“Hm, yeah,” Thunderclash replies distractedly checking his chronometer, stiffening in panic as he does so, “Oh no, I overslept. I have to go to my shift soon.”

“You don’t have enough time to get back to your hab to rinse off?” Rodimus stands up to let Thunderclash get on his feet.

“No,” Thunderclash shakes his head as he brushes crumbs off himself, “I’d have enough time to get to my room then I would have to turn around immediately in order to make it in time.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and curses under his breath, “Sometimes this ship is really too fragging big.”

“Definitely,” Rodimus agrees in deep sympathy, remembering how he’d been late to even casual events just because it took too long to travel around the ship.

“I guess I’m just going to have to deal with it today,” Thunderclash mutters.

Rodimus stares at Thunderclash for a moment then looks to the side and says, “You could use my washracks if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Thunderclash looks hesitant, “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Feel free to use any soap too,” Rodimus gestures to his washracks, “You better hurry though, don’t want to be late to your shift.”

Thunderclash snaps to attention and stiffly says, “Oh, yes, you have a point.”

Rushing to the washracks, Thunderclash quickly turns on the spray and doesn’t even wait for it to warm up before getting in. Rodimus can tell by the very uncomfortable noise Thunderclash makes and laughs to himself as he cleans up the trash. Thunderclash is still in the washracks once he’s done cleaning up which only really leaves the vidscreen. Figuring that Thunderclash wasn’t going to be able to take it back just yet, Rodimus picks it up and puts it away among his things so it wouldn’t get kicked over or stepped on. Thunderclash comes rushing out of the washracks still dripping somewhat with solvent and quickly waves his goodbyes as he leaves. Rodimus shakes his head in good humor as he watches Thunderclash go before heading to the washracks himself to clean off.

After his late shift, Rodimus goes to Swerve’s and is waved down by Drift at the bar. As soon as he sits next to his amica, Swerve sets down his usual in front of him.

“Hey,” Rodimus greets him with a lift of his glass before taking a sip.

“Hey, Roddy,” Drift rests his helm on his hand giving Rodimus a knowing smile that Rodimus recognizes as one that can only mean he was in for some teasing.

Rodimus slowly draws his glass from his lips and sets it down with a soft clink.

“Alright, what is it?” Rodimus drones, facing his amica in full.

“What? Nothing,” Drift dismisses him sarcastically, “Just that a few people noticed that Thunderclash came speeding out of your hab this morning looking like he just got out of the washracks. A walk of shame, perhaps? But no, you hate him don’t you?”

Rodimus rolls his optics and sighs, “I don’t… really hate him anymore.”

Drift snorts into his drink as he takes a sip, “That much I could tell.”

“It’s wasn’t like that,” Rodimus insists, pressing the cold glass to his forehelm, “We watched a vid together and both accidentally fell into recharge. He stayed in too late so I let him use my washracks. Completely innocent friend stuff I assure you.”

After not hearing anything for a hot second, Rodimus turns to look at Drift who looks like he’s been frozen to the spot, the lip of his glass lingering at his lips.

“What?”

Drift clears his intake and pulls his drink away dramatically, shutting his optics for extra effect, “You’re saying that you and Thunderclash spent the night watching a vid, alone, likely in the dark, in your hab, just the two of you, and you fell into recharge on accident.”

Rodimus sets his drink down and tilts his head, staring at his amica, “yeah?”

“So you went on a date,” Drift points at him firmly, “with Thunderclash.”

Sputtering, Rodimus laughs and scoffs, “No, I just agreed to watch it with him since he’s been helping me lately.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, like with cleaning my hab, helping me with work, and fixing my shelf due to a freak accident and I absolutely didn’t send my new board flying into it while checking it out.”

Drift puts his drink down on the counter, puts his hands on Rodimus’ shoulders, and looks firmly into Rodimus’ optics.

“What?” Rodimus mumbles defensively.

“Roddy.”

“Yeah?”

“That is so fragging domestic it almost hurts.”

“We’re not dating,” Rodimus grits out through his denta.

“You know what half the stuff Ratchetand I do together?” Drift gestures vaguely in the direction of his hab then he jabs a finger in the middle of Rodimus’ chest, “Exactly what you just described.”

Rodimus moodily takes another drink, ignoring what Drift just said.

“We’re not dating,” he says again.

“Well,” Drift throws his hands into the air, “maybe you should be.”

Rodimus downs the rest of his drink, pays for it, and stands up then looks at Drift.

“We’re just becoming friends, that’s all, Drift.”

With that, he leaves only to flinch as Drift yells after him.

“Thirty shanix says you kiss him before the week is out!”

Rolling his optics, Rodimus leaves the bar.

Rodimus has Thunderclash over again to help him with work which translates into them both working with music in the background and both of them occasionally asking the other if a form was right. It goes late into the evening and then the night cycle comes around with both of them too haggard to continue on. At some point, they’d given up on working at the desk and now had the datapads all scattered around them as they stare at them with dull optics. Neither of them wanted to move with both Thunderclash’s hab and Rodimus’ own berth too far away to bother with. Without so much as a word, Rodimus chucks a datapad at the controls and the light in his hab shuts off, startling Thunderclash.

“Something tells me you’ve had practice doing that,” Thunderclash murmurs, exhaustion weighing down his voice as his optics start to close.

“Mm,” Rodimus hums nonchalantly, settling into a more comfortable position, “Sometimes you don’t want to get out of berth to turn off the lights you know?”

Thunderclash chuckles and Rodimus can feel the deep rumbles in Thunderclash’s chest against his cheek.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Nothing more is said as they both fall into recharge next to each other once again.

When Rodimus wakes up he’s laid out on his berth and he can hear the washracks running. Groggily, he sits up and looks around confused as to when he’d gotten into his berth. The sound of the solvent turning off catches his attention and he looks to see Thunderclash stepping out of the washracks while offering Rodimus a sheepish smile.

“I figured you’d be more comfortable on your berth than on the floor so I hope you don’t mind that I moved you.”

“Not at all,” Rodimus swings his legs over the edge of the berth and walks past Thunderclash, stopping at the entrance of his washracks, “You don’t have a busy day today, do you?”

Thunderclash shakes his head, “No, today’s actually my day off.”

“Oh, mine too. Maybe we can do something.”

“Sure,” Thunderclash nods, “I’d like that.”

Rodimus grins, still shaking his exhaustion from his frame and he walks into the washracks. He looks around and notices some new things that definitely weren’t there before but he brushes it off. Thunderclash probably brought them in case he stayed in too late again and needed to wash up. It’s just like him to think ahead like that and fits his MO for maximum politeness to bring his own things so he doesn’t use Rodimus’ too much or use up his washing supplies. Once he’s out, dry, and waxed, Rodimus returns to his berthroom to see Thunderclash reading something on a datapad. Just as he’s about to say something, there’s a knock at the door which catches both of their attention. Walking over, Rodimus gives the command to open the door to find Riptide standing in front of him.

“Hey, Rodimus! Do you know where-” Riptide begins but then cuts himself off as he notices Thunderclash over Rodimus’ shoulder, “Oh, there you are, Thunders! You want to come join us for the new game Rewind got? You did say you were interested after all.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Thunderclash says slowly, sharing a look with Rodimus.

Rodimus shrugs and Thunderclash smiles at him apologetically before standing up while putting the datapad aside. With one last wave, Thunderclash is dragged down the hall by Riptide to go meet their friends. Watching until they disappear around the corner, Rodimus leaves his hab to go meet with people, not wanting to be alone in that instant.

He goes to the track on the lower levels and does a few laps until he notices Drift watching from the sideline. Stopping to transform, Rodimus walks over to Drift who doesn’t start with so much as a “hello” before getting right to it.

“He used your wax,” Drift states like it was particularly incriminating evidence.

“Come again?” Rodimus crosses his arms and leans against the wall next to Drift.

“Thunderclash,” Drift clarifies, “I saw him hanging out with the usual suspects and I noticed he’s wearing your wax.”

“Okay,” Rodimus quirks his brow at Drift, “So he used some this morning. What about? Also, how are you so sure it’s my wax?”

Drift looks at him firmly, “Roddy, you’re the only one on this ship that uses charred-cherry scented wax.”

Rodimus clicks his glossa and nods stiffly, “Okay, yeah. That was my wax then.”

Drift huffs and slides down the wall a bit, “He used your wax- Wait. This morning?”

“He stayed over again after a late work night,” Rodimus puts his hands out in front of him, gesturing to some invisible object.

Drift squints at him and drawls, “Uh-huh…”

“Anyway, you were saying?” Rodimus crosses his arms again.

“Right, he used your wax so clearly he wants to smell like you,” Drift splays his fingers out as he shares his conspiracy theory like he’s putting all the pieces together.

“What? Why would he do that?” Rodimus slides all the way down so he’s sitting and Drift joins him.

“Comfort, to have a small reminder of you,” Drift explains, “When Ratchet has to go planetside for a few days and I’m stuck doing something else, sometimes I use the wax he likes so I can have a bit of him with me. It’s a thing.”

“It is not a thing,” Rodimus responds skeptically, “It might be a ‘you thing’ but it is not a ‘thing thing’.”

“It is though,” Drift insists, “Perceptor does it too.”

Rodimus continues looking at his amica skeptically but doesn’t try to argue further, instead, he sighs and lets his head fall back against the wall.

“If you say so,” Rodimus mutters.

“I do.”

Rodimus taps his finger against his knee as he pretends to read the datapad in front of him. He wanted to see for himself if what Drift had said was really true so he’d invited Thunderclash over to hang out for the evening. Both of them are now on his berth with their backs against the wall, trying to figure out what vid they want to watch together. Rodimus had given up on that in favor of contemplating the fact that Thunderclash did, in fact, use his wax and the insinuations of what that meant that Drift had put into his head.

“How about this one?” Thunderclash holds out the datapad in his hand for Rodimus to see.

“Hm?” Rodimus sets his datapad on his chest as he’s jarred from his thoughts.

“It’s an Earth film. Apparently it’s about an alien species that goes to Earth and hunts humans for sport. A lot of humans like it for whatever reason.”

“Sure,” Rodimus shrugs, not really caring what they watch.

He hops off the berth to bring a shelf to the foot of it so they have something to set the vidscreen on. Thunderclash loads up the movie and they both settle in to watch it. It turns out to be a bit gory and the soldier guys are definitely compensating for something through the entire movie but Rodimus can’t really pay attention to any of it. Rodimus finds his optics keep finding their way back to Thunderclash who’s sitting so close to him that he can pick up the familiar smell of the wax he himself uses every day. What makes it so significant that it’s on Thunderclash is something that eludes him but he knows that it is significant to him that Thunderclash is wearing his wax. He surprises himself with the thought that he wants Thunderclash to wear it every day as well. With his face heating up, he tries hard to focus on the movie.

Rodimus’ optics open and he can vaguely hear someone trying to talk to him. With a few moments, his vision clears and he sees Thunderclash leaning over him and feels one of Thunderclash’s arms under him, pressing into his back just under his spoiler. He feels floaty like he’s in a dream and he figures that has to be what this is. Thunderclash is smiling sweetly at him and seems amused by something. Rodimus thinks it’s a nice look on him and reaches up to put his hand against Thunderclash’s cheek. Another thought Drift put in his head comes to the forefront of his thoughts and he wonders for a moment what it would be like. He decides that since this is a dream, there won’t be any consequences so Rodimus pushes up against the berth and slots his mouth against Thunderclash’s in a very sleepy kiss. Rodimus sighs against Thunderclash’s lips and brings his arms up to wrap them behind Thunderclash’s neck. Thunderclash sits up and Rodimus follows him up, pressing deeper into the kiss and cupping Thunderclash’s face as he breaks briefly before capturing Thunderclash’s lips again.

Thunderclash’s hands hold Rodimus’ shoulders firmly as he gasps against Rodimus. Rodimus is tugged back some so they break from the kiss. Confused, he opens his optics to see Thunderclash panting and flushed but what catches Rodimus’ attention is the hurt in Thunderclash’s optics. Quickly pushing away and sliding off of Thunderclash’s lap, Rodimus stares wide-eyed at Thunderclash and realizes very quickly that what just happened was not a dream.

“Sorry,” Rodimus blurts out, starting to panic, “I guess I was still half asleep.”

“I-It’s alright, these things… happen,” Thunderclash stutters out, now looking anywhere other than where Rodimus is sitting,

“No they fragging don’t,” Rodimus covers his face with his hands as dread creeps into his spark.

“They must happen to somebody…” Thunderclash argues, too quiet for Rodimus’ liking.

Rodimus looks through his fingers at Thunderclash who’s still sitting on his berth, clearly at a loss of what to do. He can’t say he’s much better.

“I guess… Is it morning?” Rodimus asks, changing the subject.

“Uh, yeah,” Thunderclash watches Rodimus get off the berth and check himself in the mirror.

Rodimus walks back and says, “I’m going to head out. Now is about the time that Drift grabs fuel so I’m going to go see if I can catch him.”

“Alright,” Thunderclash nods slowly, clearly confused.

“Okay, see you later. Bye,” Rodimus calls over his shoulder as he leaves before running to Drift’s hab.

Once he reaches Drift and Ratchet’s hab, he pounds on the door until a groggy Drift answers it squinting out at his amica.

“Well, you’re up early,” Drift grumbles, “What’s so important you have to wake me up and you couldn’t wait an hour or so?”

Without a word, Rodimus puts thirty shanix in Drift’s hand and puts his hands on his hips, waiting in anticipation. Drift looks at the shanix in his hand for a while, bouncing it in the palm of his hand with as if that would reveal the answer. Then, Drift’s optics light up with recognition and his attention snaps up to Rodimus who grimaces in confirmation. Drift quickly drags Rodimus into his hab and shuts the door behind him.

“You did?” Drift hisses as he pockets the shanix.

Rodimus groans and covers his face with his hands, “In the worst way possible.”

“What did you do?”

“I thought I was dreaming so while he was trying to wake me up I tried to make out with him because like an idiot I wanted to know what it felt like,” Rodimus vents in deeply after his rant and sits down in a chair.

Drift sits down next to him and pats his knee, “And?”

Rodimus levels a confused look at Drift.

“And what did it feel like?” Drift elaborates, exasperated by his amica.

He thinks back to it, the feeling of Thunderclash above him and Thunderclash’s lips against his own.

“Good,” Rodimus whispers, “Really, really, good.”

“Well, then there you go,” Drift says like that answered all of Rodimus’ problems.

“He didn’t like it though,” Rodimus argues, his voice breaking somewhat, “He pushed me away.”

“From the sound of it, he was probably more worried that you weren’t aware of what you were doing and to whom,” Drift balances his elbows on his knees, not looking worried in the slightest.

“Drift.”

“Rodimus.”

They stare at each other, both challenging the other. Rodimus breaks under Drift’s flat gaze and slumps in his chair.

“What do I do?” Rodimus sighs.

“Tell him, there’s no other way,” Drift pats Rodimus’ head.

“I can’t just do that,” Rodimus insists, standing up to pace the room, “I left him in my hab, confused to slag and he probably sat there thinking ‘what the frag was that?’ and has decided that he doesn’t want to even speak. He’s probably gathering all his stuff…”

Rodimus stops in his tracks.

Drift waits for him to continue but when he doesn’t he asks, “His stuff?”

“Yeah, hang on, I gotta go,” Rodimus leaves and rushes right back to his hab, opening the door to see Thunderclash with an armful of his things.

“Oh, Rodimus, you’re back,” Thunderclash scrambles to keep the things under his arm from falling to the floor, “A lot of my things have built up in your hab, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll clean them all out.”

Rodimus marches up to Thunderclash and takes the datapads and wash supplies from him much to Thunderclash’s confusion.

“No, don’t,” Rodimus clutches the things to his chest.

“Rodimus, what are you saying?”

“Move in with me,” Rodimus sets the stuff to the side and takes hold of Thunderclash’s hands.

“You want me to what?” Thunderclash grips Rodimus’ hands tightly.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Rodimus blurts out and Thunderclash’s optics go wide, “I want to wake up next to you every day. I want you to steal my wax and work late nights with me. I want to kiss you again.”

Thunderclash doesn’t speak a word, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence.

“Move in with me... please,” Rodimus whispers.

Swallowing thickly, Thunderclash nods and Rodimus smiles brightly. Tugging Thunderclash down, he kisses him and this time, Thunderclash kisses back, pulling Rodimus towards his frame with a sigh. They break apart slowly as though they were melting and Thunderclash rests his helm against Rodimus’.

“I thought I’d gotten away with the wax thing,” Thunderclash mumbles.

“You almost did,” Rodimus laughs, “but Drift noticed.”

“Ah,” Thunderclash smiles and kisses Rodimus on the cheek, “I’m glad that you don’t mind then.”

“I like it on you. It makes it feel like you’re mine.”

“I am.”


	3. Ropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash and Rodimus get bonded

Thunderclash can feel his spark thrumming in his chest as a golden hand slides into his as easily as venting. It all feels like a dream as he looks into the pools of blue light that are Rodimus’ optics that shimmer with unspoken emotion. Pink twine -although it would be rope in the hands of a human- is draped over their hands then wrapped around them once, twice, each twist tightening his spark in a loving hold. Rodimus would roll his optics if Thunderclash were to tell him but he swears that the very light of the room seems to be drawn to Rodimus in an indescribable pull, tugging on Thunderclash’s very spark. Thunderclash barely hears the words that Fortress Maximus is saying as he continues the ceremony, all of his attention pinpointed on Rodimus in front of him who’s smiling up at him like nothing in the entire universe could make him happier and for Thunderclash to know that he’s the cause of that smile makes his head spin and his chest ache wonderfully with joy. Intricate glyphs of gold shine on Rodimus’ red plating, drawing the eye from the curve of his mouth to his round cheek to finally stop at his optics. A fond sigh escapes Thunderclash’s intake and Rodimus does roll his optics then but his smile doesn’t dim in the least.

The deep tremble of Fort Max’s voice stops which is the only way Thunderclash knows that the ceremony is almost complete. Thunderclash leans forward and Rodimus pushes up on his feet to cup Thunderclash’s cheek as their lips meet and the crowd rises up in cheers that match the thundering of their sparks in an equal amount of joy. With a small snip of scissors, the twine is cut, one end tied to each of their wrists and like that, they’re bonded. That word echoes in Thunderclash’s mind in shouts of glee and disbelief as Rodimus tugs him away from the altar and through the crowds with a bright laugh that’s as light as the sound of chimes on the wind. Congratulations are called their way in a cacophony of voices all melding together too much to be distinguished from each other. He can feel it in the very air around them, the glow of happiness he had once doubted would ever be his.

Together as newly bonded, they crash back into the world outside of the temple and are immediately washed in dark hues of gold, saffron, and pink as Cybertron’s sun sets on the horizon. Their friends poor out behind them as they head out, hand in hand across the warm earth that stretches across the edge of the rebuilt capital. In a moment of spontaneity, Thunderclash releases Rodimus’ hand only to lift him up and twirl him around before pulling him in and holding him close. He closes his optics as the faint rumble of Rodimus’ laugh bounces on his chest in time with his spark and at that moment, the whole universe feels calm. In the soft glow of Alpha Centauri and the light of his conjunx’s optics, bound to him in ropes spun from light, Thunderclash feels that he finally knows what it means to be at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hella short but I had so much trouble coming up with what I wanted to for "ropes" and was so unsatisfied with everything until I remembered handfasting and so this is short but sweet. I hope you liked it


	4. Ember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realized I've written a lot about Rodimus falling in love with Thunderclash or realizing he's in love with Thunderclash but that I have never explored my headcanon that Thunderclash has been in love with Rodimus for a very long time and this seemed like the perfect prompt to do that with. This is way too ambitious for a week fill-in and ate so much time. I'm so behind D: but I will get to all of the words. I refuse to give up. This is a rough timeline of all the times Thunderclash has been painfully in love with Rodimus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *smacks roof of fic* this baby can fit so many headcanons in it
> 
> Other big headcanon I have that's a major theme in this fic: Thunderclash hates Optimus with good reason (Ratchet does not know this)

It was during a break while he was still an academy mech. Thunderclash traveled to Nyon to volunteer for a research project that would count for credit. The decision itself had been rather spontaneous, mostly due to a need for something else that he couldn’t quite describe and Ratchet had suggested that maybe he felt confined and needed a change in scenery. There was an indescribable draw to Nyon, a city of light and yet, like everywhere else, suffering from the tension slowly consuming their world but despite that its people remain unbelievably luminous, maybe not in physical appearance but in spark. It wasn’t quite what Thunderclash was looking for but it eased the tension on his spark and the change of pace was nice. He made friends easily enough with the mechs he worked with and it was a nice change in pace.

One night, his friends from work convince him to join them for drinks, little did he know that he was agreeing to drinks at an illegal race gambling circuit. It was innocent enough for what it was and none of the racers seemed to be too interested in bumping their competitors off the track in order to win. So, he let it slide, knowing as well as anyone else that fun was hard to find. Thunderclash sat and watched at their table as his friends cheered and put down more shanix than they might have if they hadn’t thrown back three drinks. They all tried to get him to put in a bet of his own, even a small one but he genuinely had no attachment to the race in any way and turned them all away. The race was rather exciting as the brightly-colored racers speed over the irregular track, some of them even skidding off of it into stretches of rough earth when they hit the turns wrong. All around him, the spectators cheer their sparks out so the sound echoes in his head to carry him at least somewhat into their excitement. Then the race comes to an end and the cheers rise to their peak as the winner zooms over the finish line.

After a few laps to cool, the top racers roll up to the center where they would receive their prizes. Thunderclash watches them with mild interest, his optics caught by the build of the winner’s altmode that’s painted a bright ride with pleasant yellow accents. A racecar built for speed that’s for sure. Then he transforms and Thunderclash feels his vents hitch as he’s suddenly starstruck and speechless at the sight of the gorgeous mech walking to claim first prize, waving and smiling at the crowd. He’s unbelievably cocky, walking with the swagger of someone who definitely knows people are looking, really looking at him. Even so, there’s the genuine joy at having won that lights up his smile into something genuine and breathtaking like he hadn’t really expected to win or get close to it. The victor’s optics scans the crowd blindly, looking at all those cheering for him. For a moment, there’s the briefest of seconds where Thunderclash feels as though their optics meet, blue shining bright despite the light glaring down on him meeting Thunderclash’s red. The look stings and sends a hot flash through Thunderclash’s spark like an ember landing against his spark casing.

No matter the pain of the distance, of the impossibility, Thunderclash can’t look away from the red mech as people begin chanting his designation. At least he has a name to put to the face that has captured him so completely. Hot Rod, this wonderful mech that he doesn’t even know, that he now wants to know so badly is walking down from the podium and through a door back into the arena proper, gone. Despite his common sense, Thunderclash feels as though he’s missed his chance and melancholy overcomes him as Hot Rod slips through his fingers. His friends share their dismay or joy at the results of their bets all around him, oblivious to the churning feelings in his spark until he stands up. Their demeanors change and they all ask him what’s wrong.

Thunderclash waves them off, “I’m suddenly not feeling well. I think I’m going to head back early. I’ll see you all back at the office.”

Some are about to try to pull him back but he’s already turning around to determinedly walk out of the bar. He knows he’s being irrational but he can’t help it, this emotion that burns so true, so hot, so severely in his spark in a way he knows he wouldn’t be able to explain. At least, not in a way that wouldn’t get him several optic rolls and teases.

Distracted by his thoughts, he doesn’t see where he’s going and bumps into someone significantly shorter than himself who falls to the ground with a grunt. After regaining his balance, Thunderclash quickly bends down to help them back on their pedes.

“I am so sorry,” Thunderclash frantically apologizes, dusting the mech off, “I was stuck in my own head and didn’t see you. Are you alright?”

“Heh, yeah, hope I didn’t scratch your paint, big guy,” a casual and light voice replies with a bit of chuckle, not sounding put off in the least.

Relieved that they aren’t upset, Thunderclash finally looks to meet the mech’s optics and his spark nearly stops in his chest. He had been too caught up in his stumble, one he makes far too often for his own liking, to notice that the plating he’d been brushing is the very same red that had caught his optic just moments ago.

“Oh, it’s you,” Thunderclash whispers and Hot Rod tilts his head with a bemused look. Thunderclash clears his intake and more confidently says, “Hot Rod right? I saw your race. Congratulations on the win.”

Hot Rod grin brightens to its fullest and Thunderclash has to school his features so he doesn’t burst into a goofy smile.

“Thanks!” Hot Rod rubs the back of his helm in a way that Thunderclash couldn’t describe as anything other than cute, “I was a bit worried there in the second to last lap. Wasn’t sure I’d pull it off, you know?”

“But you did,” Thunderclash says, perhaps a bit too fondly if Hot Rod’s flushed face is anything to go by, “You were amazing.”

“Thanks uh…” Hot Rod pauses and Thunderclash stiffens with embarrassment, realizing that he hadn’t offered his own designation.

“Thunderclash,” he blurts out quickly then clears his intake to say, more slowly, “I’m Thunderclash, it’s nice to meet you.”

Hot Rod laughs, sending the ember in Thunderclash’s chest into a small flame, and shakes the hand Thunderclash had put out subconsciously, “It’s nice to meet you too, Thunderclash.”

They stand there for a moment, their hands joined between them as they wait for the other to speak but nothing is said. Looking down, Thunderclash notices how long he’s been holding Hot Rod’s hand and pulls it back sharply to put it behind his helm, heat traveling to his face.

“Uh, um,” Thunderclash stutters, looking for something to say.

“Yeah?” Hot Rod says helpfully.

Thunderclash doesn’t know if it really is what he’s seeing or if it’s just his besotted spark making him see it, but he swears that Hot Rod looks borderline hopeful, hopeful for something… significant.

Deciding to take his chance, Thunderclash swallows his nerves and lowers his hand as a kind of offer, “Would you let me buy you a drink?”

Hot Rod lights up and his spoiler flutters behind him, “I’d love that.”

They walk together back to the bar he’d just left, his spark whirling at light speed as he tries not to let his optics longer too long on Hot Rod in an outright stare. The downside of this is he does catch the attention of the friends he’d abandoned before who look at him in confusion before spotting the mech next to him. They send teasing looks his way, one going so far as to offer him a cheeky wink before returning to their drinks. Feeling completely flustered, Thunderclash leads Hot Rod to the bartender and asks for his drink before turning to Hot Rod.

“A Nightmare Spinout, please,” Hot Rod leans against the counter and throws his thumb in the direction of Thunderclash, “and put it on his tab.”

Thunderclash shutters wide optics at Hot Rod who looks at him quickly before making a double-take and becomes suddenly bashful.

“Uh, is that too hard of a drink to ask for on a date?” Hot Rod asks, genuinely curious before catching himself and waving his hands in defense, “Not that I think this is a date or anything, I get you just asked so we could talk for a while or whatever.”

Hot Rod sighs and slumps, hiding his face in his hands, “I’m an idiot.”

Thunderclash steadies himself as the small flame in his chest grows, blooming out with almost unbearable heat before resting a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder to get him to look at him again.

“If it’s what you like then it’s not the wrong choice,” Thunderclash shrugs casually, “I should have known your tastes were going to be as exciting as you are.”

Out of the corner of his optic he can see the bartender roll his optics as he sets their drinks in front of him but Thunderclash doesn’t mind it with the way Hot Rod is looking at him. With their drinks in hand, they retreat to a quieter part of the bar and start talking about everything almost right away. Hot Rod tells him about Nyon and its people with such detail and love that Thunderclash falls a bit in love with the city himself. He liked it before, sure, but with the way Hot Rod animatedly talks about it and all of the hard work people put into it, he feels a much deeper appreciation for what’s hidden behind the lights and glamor. Thunderclash tells him about funny stories from his time at the academy, the place he’d come to call home and his dreams of being able to help people with what he’s learned. No one’s ever listened as eagerly to his dreams as Hot Rod who asks him questions about all his plans going so far to ask if he’ll ever come to help those who need it here in Nyon. Without hesitation, Thunderclash agrees, feeling that nothing could keep him away from this city once his education was done.

They talk so much that Thunderclash finds he’s barely touched his drink when a mech stops at their booth, one he doesn’t recognize, bringing their pleasant conversation to a halt. The mech frowns at Hot Rod, making him sigh with frustration.

“Sorry, Thunderclash, I’ve got to get going but I’ll see you later, okay?” Hot Rod waves back at him as he gets up, his smile somewhat subdued and Thunderclash waves back.

“Oh, yes, alright, see you later.”

He watches Hot Rod go, flame burning bright in his spark and he puts a hand to his chest, amazed at how severely his feeling has grown in such a short time. Sitting there stuck in the fresh memories of his time with Hot Rod, Thunderclash jumps when someone pokes him. His friends had come over to retrieve him so they could all go back together and, sure enough, the entire trip back is full of teasing and questions about Hot Rod. As they walk back to the office, he finds he doesn’t mind, more than happy to talk about the wonderful mech he met.

Once back on his berth, his frame heavy from the excitement of the day, his mind drifts back to the bar and his conversation with Hot Rod as he descends into recharge. Thunderclash smiles to himself, remembering the way Hot Rod’s optics lit up and how his hands flew threw the air as he spoke, thinking of how wonderful it will be to talk to him again. At that thought, Thunderclash’s optics fly open and he sits up quickly.

“Frag!” he shouts, startling his roommate and he puts his head in his hands, “I forgot to ask him for his comm frequency!”

* * *

Thunderclash spent every moment of free time he had wandering around popular hangouts and racetracks, hoping to run into the speedster again or at least someone who knew him. He asked around everywhere he could after Hot Rod but no one seemed to know who he was talking about, leading him to fall further and further into despair. His hopes of ever seeing Hot Rod again dwindled almost completely by the time he headed back to the academy, leaving him worse than when he had left.

Ratchet, of course, notices this.

“If I had known that going to Nyon would put you in this much of a bad mood I would have chained you to the berth if you had insisted on going,” Ratchet comments one evening as they spend some time in Thunderclash’s room.

“Fliptrick may like it when you do that but I have no inclination of trying that particular illicit hobby of yours, Ratchet,” Thunderclash mutters against his berth.

Ratchet barks out a laugh that makes his shoulders shake that brings a small smile to Thunderclash’s features.

“Well, at least I know you aren’t too far gone since you still have your sense of humor,” Ratchet prods Thunderclash, getting him to chuckle if somewhat subdued, “but seriously, what in the pit happened in Nyon that’s got you this out of sorts?”

Thunderclash sighs and sits up to let his helm fall back to stare up at the ceiling, “I met my future sparkmate but I forgot to ask him for his frequency so now I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”

He doesn’t get a response right away so he looks down at Ratchet who’s giving him his classic incredulous look complete with his hard stare and crossed arms.

“I’m being serious,” Thunderclash insists, flopping dejectedly onto his side.

“I know you’re being serious,” Ratchet grumbles, “That’s what I’m worried about. You’re really going to get this messed up over a mech you barely know?”

“I wish I knew more,” Thunderclash whispers, his optics going distant.

Ratchet considers him for a moment before groaning in frustration and getting up to drag Thunderclash into a sitting position.

“Come on you great lug,” Ratchet sighs, patting Thunderclash affectionately on the back, “let’s go get a drink, I think you could use one.”

“That’s not a very medically sound prescription,” Thunderclash mumbles, getting to his pedes to follow Ratchet.

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Ratchet waves him off, “I’m no therapist but I’m sure sparks can heal from this sort of thing. A mech like you will find someone in no time at all and Nyon will just be a fond memory.”

“If you say so,” Thunderclash says this but in his very being, he knows what Ratchet’s trying to say, while well-intentioned, isn’t going to happen.

* * *

Nyon burns. Tensions have heightened above and beyond Thunderclash’s greatest fears and he knew something terrible was on the brink but he hadn’t expected this. He recedes into himself and those around him blame it on the shock of the event that rattles them all to their very sparks, radicalizing many of them and pushing them over the edge to join a side. This includes Thunderclash himself but not for the reasons they think, not any reason he’d admit. It’s a very selfish and vengeful reason that feeds the flame in his spark, ignited by a single ember from another spark that had now been snuffed out like nothing. He keeps his rage quiet, making his way into the ranks of the Autobots that are gaining traction under the leadership of the newly ordained Optimus Prime, an unlikely contender in all of this madness. Once there, the situation becomes all the more clear.

The moment he hears Hot Rod’s name, his body goes painfully still and his vents stop completely only to be released in a wave of relief as he hears that he’s still alive. His restored feeling of joy is short-lived as Hot Rod’s name is connected to the devastation of Nyon. Thunderclash’s spark goes out to the mech, wherever he is, knowing he could never truly know the horror that Hot Rod must be feeling, remembering how animated he had been once during a time that feels so long ago now. He curses Megatron, curses Zeta Prime, curses Optimus Prime, and curses himself for not being able to be there for Hot Rod right now when he wants nothing more than to take Hot Rod’s hand and reassure that there was at least one person out there ready to support him should he fall.

As a respected mech, Thunderclsh is accepted readily into the ranks of the Autobots and shown to the base. There, he sees the aftermath. Everyone feels the effects of Nyon, the reality of war that it promises and the lives that were taken with it. Then, among them, the center of hateful optics and cold stares is Hot Rod, ducking his head to avoid them, the image of which is so visceral to Thunderclash that he stops in his tracks while being led to meet with command. He wants to follow Hot Rod, chase after him to comfort him and almost does until Hot Rod’s optics meet his, sending a devastating ache through his entire frame. Hot Rod’s optics are dull and cold, nearly unseeing as he looks ahead of him and when he looks at Thunderclash, there’s no recognition there. So Thunderclash lets him go, feeling the most useless he ever has in his entire life now that he can’t so much as rest a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. How can he possibly comfort him, when to Hot Rod he’s nothing but a stranger?

Thunderclash turns away from Hot Rod’s retreating form, letting himself be led on to meet with Optimus Prime and, to his surprise, only Optimus Prime.

“I am glad you have joined us, Thunderclash,” Optimus greets him.

“It’s kind of hard to think of doing otherwise now,” Thunderclash doesn’t hide his distress, knowing Prime will interpret it as the shock of Nyon.

“I hope to give you a team of your own,” Optimus Prime hands him a datapad before continuing, “You’re a very capable mech, Thunderclash. I have every bit of confidence that you will be key in our efforts in thwarting the Decepticons.”

Thunderclash doesn’t respond, skimming through the datapad quickly, not really interested in anything it says but catching the most important pieces. He looks back up at Prime and smacks the datapad against his hand a few times, thinking over his words.

Temptation wins in the end, “Were you speaking with Hot Rod right now?”

“I was,” Optimus blinks at him in surprise, “Do you know him?”

“We drank together once and really, I doubt there isn’t anyone who hasn’t at least heard of him now.”

Optimus looks down with shame, others might see it as sympathy but Thunderclash can see it for what it is.

“Yes, an… unfortunate tragedy, one he should not have suffered,” Prime’s voice resonates with deep emotion but it only manages to piss Thunderclash off.

“Unfortunate,” he echoes flatly.

“Yes,” Prime nods.

Thunderclash grips the datapad tightly, his hands shaking imperceptibly.

“That’s what you said to him?” Thunderclash’s voice breaks as he stares at Optimus.

“It was a difficult situation,” Optimus puts firmly, crossing his arms, “He kept the people of Nyon from being used to further Zeta Prime’s dominion over Cybertron. It was a dark moment but please do not look down on him for this, it was the only way. He made the right choice.”

Thunderclash ducks his head, his optics darkening to near black, and as calmly as he can, he speaks, “You mean it was the only choice you gave him.”

Optimus recoils, his optics widening at Thunderclash’s words, silenced by the look Thunderclash gives him.

“I heard what happened and I read the report,” Thunderclash tosses the datapad aside and steps into Optimus’ space, shoulders squared back and his gaze unwavering as he meets Prime face to face, “You clearly knew Zeta’s plan and yet you were as obedient as ever, overly hopeful that your superior would see reason. You were blind and willfully so. Was it really your hope to appeal to his better nature? In what way was his response sane or reasonable? When you knew what force he was willing to inflict against the people he was supposed to protect, the people you are responsible for now, you should have known then.”

Optimus places a hand on Thunderclash’s shoulder but his optics remain hard, “We can speak of ‘what-if’s’ until our vocalizers give out but that won’t change reality, Thunderclash. What matters is that Zeta has been stopped albeit at a great cost. Now, we must move forward and salvage as much of Cybertron as we can.”

“I’m not dwelling on what might have happened,” Thunderclash growls, ripping Optimus’ hand off his shoulder, gripping his wrist so hard the plating dents, “I am laying your mistakes before you at your feet, Prime. Ones your proud Autobot soldiers are more than ready to forget in the face of Hot Rod having to be the one to pull the trigger for you. What isn’t being addressed are your glaring failures to not just Hot Rod, not just Nyon, but Cybertron as a whole for your passive behavior.”  
“There was never certainty-”

“Slagging pit spawn!” Thunderclash snaps, silencing Optimus.

After the initial shock, Optimus’ optics narrow into a hard glare that Thunderclash doesn’t shy away from, meeting it with one of his own.

“I am not Megatron,” Optimus insists in a way that would prevent any argument from a weaker mech, “I do not impulsively act without restraint.”

“At least he knows when action is needed,” Thunderclash retorts, his voice rumbling with the barely contained fury burning full and bright in his chest.

They face off against each other in silence, waiting for the other to break but neither back down.

Optimus breaks the tense silence, his voice lowering in warning, “The Autobots cannot doubt their faith now. They need to be guided and led from this great tragedy. The Matrix has brought them the hope they need to stand against adversity. If anything were to rip that very hope from their sparks… Imagine the consequences, Thunderclash.”

Thunderclash doesn’t respond, his shoulders beginning to shake as he ducks his head, unable to form any words as his intake tightens.

Optimus’ tone returns to how it was before as he continues, “We need leaders like you, Thunderclash. I hope you will guide them with this deep sense of justice you express so ardently.”

Gritting his denta, Thunderclash goes and picks the datapad back up and stares at it for a long moment, his back to Optimus.

“Even the tiniest of embers can ignite the greatest fires,” Thunderclash says, feeling it in the very depth of his spark.

“I assume you mean Hot Rod,” Optimus calls back.

“Yes,” Thunderclash puts the datapad in his subspace and still refuses to look at the Prime, “but not in the way you think.”  
He starts walking out of the room, hand over his chest where a fire he’s never been able to quell roars in protest as he says, “Fine, I’ll lead this team.”

With one final glance over his shoulder, he looks Optimus with burning optics, “Know that you will have earned the Matrix only when you have made yourself worthy of this sacrifice, Optimus Prime.”

Thunderclash leaves and doesn’t look back again and Optimus lets him go without a word.

* * *

War falls over Cybertron like a shadow and Thunderclash picks up a gun to fight the Decepticons. He’s fighting for his friends, for his home, for what he believes in, sure, but situations like this tend to put your priorities into focus. Every night, he checks the list of casualties and deaths he gets his hands on to the point of obsession, looking for one name in particular with mixed relief and worry every time he doesn’t see it. Awards begin to fall into his hands as he charges through battle, fighting back the brute force of the Decepticons but also searching with the fire in his spark burning as bright as ever, driving him on through this terrible war. He tears through enemy line after enemy line, earning a name for himself that he barely hears while he searches for one mech and one mech alone. No matter how hard he fights or how fast he runs, Thunderclash always seems to fall one step behind Hot Rod, never quite able to catch up to him. Whenever he hears of Hot Rod’s assignments, as discretely as he can, he rushes there and misses him by what feels like mere seconds but he has his own orders he has to follow.

When he finally slows down somewhat, the weight of the war having become too great for any distraction, he looks around and, for the first time, sees the awe in the mechs around him. Thunderclash realizes at that moment that he is much more than just a captain to them all. From then on he does his best to lift them up and ensure they never give up no matter how dark times become, sharing the light of the fire that drives him on and inspires him.

As it turns out, his name has not only carried through the ranks of the Autobots but the Decepticons as well. They begin to hunt him down with Megatron himself among the most determined, wounding Thunderclash in several standoffs that he barely manages to make his way out of. Then his luck runs out.

Thunderclash collapses to the ground with a smoking hole in his chest and Megatron laughing darkly over his frame with smoldering optics filled with satisfaction that look far too much like his own. His frame aches and he can barely speak, his vision blurring as Megatron swaggers away in victory, leaving Thunderclash to die where he lays. A chill begins to creep up his frame even as the burning crater on his chest burns away at him from the inside out. Everything goes dark and he’s sure that this is his moment. A thousand and one regrets could present themselves to him, he knows, but as his body weakens so he can’t so much as open his optics, all he thinks of is the warmth of Hot Rod’s smile as the world falls into nothingness.

Despite the odds, Thunderclash reawakens, his entire body aching and his chest still dark with scorch marks. He reaches out in his confusion, blindly searching.

“Hot… Hot…” he speaks but his voice is marred by static and weakened by his injured state.

A hand grabs his and a voice reaches him, “I know it’s hot but we can only dampen the pain. We’ll put you back under once we reach the medbay but right now we need you with us. Stay with us, Captain.”

It’s a medic who’s running with a team who are all rushing him through his ship, all of them looking frantic and determined. Once they finally pass into the sterilized room meant precisely for this critical of an injury, he more than readily falls back into unconsciousness.

When Thunderclash wakes back up, he’s met with the last thing he wants to hear. So long as he wants to live, he has to stay on the ship, on the Vis Vitalis which would now be his home for the rest of his life. He leans against a viewport and brushes the healing welds on his chest, looking with dull optics to the vast expanse of space. This is his prison.

* * *

Optimus is actually taking a sabbatical, he can’t believe it. There’s been a lull in the war after the recent insanity, sure, but Thunderclash didn’t see that as an excuse to leave on some inane exploration now. Thunderclash would be more bitter about this if it weren’t for the fact he’s pretty sure that this is an ordered sabbatical and who precisely that order came from. The last thing he was expecting, however, was for Optimus to come to him in his broken state with a very important request.  
“You want me to hold onto the Matrix for you while you’re off exploring?” Thunderclash doesn’t hide the incredulity in his voice.

“Yes, I know I can trust you with it,” Optimus watches him and from his body language, Thunderclash knows he’s being serious.

“You can trust a couple of mechs with it,” Thunderclash argues, lifting his fuel to his lips, not letting Optimus’ sudden presence interrupt his break.

“Ultra Magnus and the others of my command are good mechs but I’m already putting so much on them as it is,” Optimus explains, pacing in front of Thunderclash.

Thunderclash swirls the diluted energon in his cube, thinking it over, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

Optimus stops and turns to him, “To what are you referring?”

“You are very good at making your decisions sound so absolute and reasonable but that’s hardly ever the case, is it?” Thunderclash laughs bitterly to himself, “I get it. I can’t run off with the Matrix but even if I do you’ll be able to track me down. That’s it isn’t it?”

After a moment, Optimus speaks up, “So do you accept?”

Thundeclash considers it, weighs his options, then sighs, “Yeah, alright fine.”

“Thank you,” Optimus says as his chestplates part.

“Don’t,” Thunderclash warns as he takes the Matrix into his hands.

“Very well,” Optimus nods as his plating closes back over his spark, “Then I shall leave it with you, knowing it is in good hands.”

He watches as Optimus leaves, only opening his own chest once he’s sure the Prime has likely left his ship. Then, with the Matrix glowing in his hands so close to his own spark does the full reality of what he’s agreed to hit him. With shaky hands, he brings the Matrix to his chest, feeling the parts of the device slide into place then jolts as it comes into contact with his spark. Light blooms in his vision and the scenery around him changes. A memory that’s not his own plays in front of him, watching from what he realizes to be Optimus’ point of view as the Matrix binds with his chest. The echo of seering pain tingles over his frame but otherwise, he feels none of it and he can feel how Optimus’ intake goes tight in a silent scream. A dark realization overtakes him: the Matrix had been fighting against its new host, had fought with all its might but due to modifications of hands that he did not recognize, the Matrix lost.

“Why…” Thunderclash croaks out as he kneels on the floor clutching his chest, “Why are you showing me this?”

He doesn’t get an answer. Instead, the Matrix delves into his mind, searching and dragging up memories Thunderclash had left behind long ago. His processor becomes a storm of thoughts and emotions that completely overwhelm him and he feels as though he’s at the edge of his breaking point when his mind stills. Thunderclash opens his optics to find himself surrounded by darkness, standing to look around only to find nothing. Then, a soft light floats across his vision, a lone ember drifting lazily through the darkness. Reaching out, the ember lands on his hand, glowing brighter upon contact until it builds into a flame that races up his arm and in seconds, Thunderclash’s entire frame is burning but he feels no pain. The darkness fades under the light of the fire as it spreads out from him, igniting everything around him and shooting sparks and embers into the air.

A dark silhouette forms among the flame and Thunderclash rushes towards them, knowing that frame anywhere. His hand stretches out in front of him as the figure turns and Hot Rod’s optics meet his as cold and empty as they had appeared after the devastation of Nyon. This time, Thunderclash doesn’t shy away. He pulls Hot Rod into an embrace, holding him close to shield him from everyone’s sight and to protect him from the pain that had been so cruelly inflicted upon him. Regret and deep sorrow ache in his chest alongside the deep love and devotion for the mech in front of him. In the back of his mind, the hint of a voice calls with something that feels more than sounds like a deep and resounding “yes”.

Thunderclash opens his optics and he’s staring out at his office, unchanged and silent. With all of his energy gone, he falls into his chair and slumps forward, resting his forearms on his legs. More than anything, he feels confused but he has learned one very important thing. Optimus isn’t a true Prime.

Eventually, Optimus returns and they find that a particularly peculiar phenomenon has occurred: the Matrix did not want to leave his frame and would have to be surgically removed. Thunderclash hates that he’s too weak to tell him that they’re all wrong and that it isn’t because the Matrix just loves him so but something much more sinister. Even now, after all this time he’s still trapped beneath the weight of the presence that is Optimus Prime.

The surgery is successful with no complications and he’s left alone in a room with the Matrix his hand and Optimus standing in front of him, waiting patiently.

“It showed me what it was like for you when it first bonded to you,” Thunderclash confesses, his optics still on the Matrix in his hand, “It showed me how much pain you were both in while you fought against each other.”

Optimus doesn’t respond, only holding out his hand for Thunderclash to hand him the Matrix. Thunderclash’s grip tightens at the gesture and his hand shakes uncontrollably.

“You realize the implications of this but you don’t care,” Thunderclash whispers, “You just want the power that comes with being Prime.”

Without a single word, Optimus moves the rest of the way and tugs the Matrix out of Thunderclash’s firm hold. Thunderclash’s now empty hand curls into a fist and he doesn’t raise his head to look at Optimus.

“Your ambition to see your vision through to the end is what drives you to hold on to the Matrix. You don’t actually believe in it, you just reap the benefits that come with it.”

He hears a click and a whirring sound and knows that it’s the sound of Optimus’ plating moving out of the way to return the Matrix to the place above his spark.

Thunderclash’s fist continues to shake as he hisses, “I hope it burns you from the inside out.”

Optimus stops in his tracks as he had begun to leave and looks back at Thunderclash.

“I hope you won’t tell anyone of the visions the Matrix has given you,” Optimus seems untroubled by Thunderclash’s words and likely already knows the answer.

“Of course not,” Thunderclash smiles but it doesn’t reach his optics, “Who would believe me anyway? You’re Optimus Prime.”  
Optimus nods and begins to leave once more.

“You know,” Thunderclash calls out, getting Optimus to stop again, “You and Megatron really are a match.”

Optimus’ hand squeezes the frame of the door so hard it caves in on itself with a harsh screech. Then, he finally leaves without bothering to say anything else.

* * *

Thunderclash hates how disconnected he’s become because of his permanent position and just manages to keep himself from shaking as he reads over the record in his hands. Optimus had resigned, leaving the Autobots to their own devices which left Thunderclash dizzy with fury but that wasn’t the end of the madness. He certainly had not expected how that would result in Hot Rod taking on the Matrix and becoming Rodimus Prime only for the slagger to take back the Matrix and return to his position of glory. Thinking of how Rodimus nearly died makes him feel more trapped on his ship than he ever has before with how it renders him incapable of helping the awe-inspiring mech. Of course, that’s not how anyone else saw it and it felt like he was the last person to learn about this.

What’s worse is that he has no one to confide in about this. Not even Ratchet.

* * *

The war has ended but he’s still going to die. Figures.

Some unknown illness has overtaken him and he’s just barely able to fight it off or, at least, he thinks he’s fighting it off. His medical staff, for as brilliant as they are, can’t find out how to cure him but he doesn’t blame them for it. Space is filled with strange and dangerous things, not to mention he had studied medicine and he wouldn’t have been able to explain it either. Thunderclash’s ready to give up then a miracle occurs and it’s like Primus himself has heard his prayers.

Rodimus in all his glory enters the medbay and just like that for reasons far beyond Thunderclash’s understanding, he’s cured but he’s certainly not about to complain. Velocity looks at him afterward and tells him what’s probably the best news of his life that he’s healed enough that he doesn’t have to stay on the Vis Vitalis anymore and with Rodimus right there, why would he? He’s welcomed warmly by the crew and he feels lighter than he has in the past millions of years of war and short period of peace. There’s only one mech he really cares to greet again, though.

They had seen each other once before as they both traveled in pursuit of the Knights of Cybertron briefly but it had been too brief. Thunderclash goes to the bridge and stops, he doesn’t really believe what he’s seeing. Rodimus stands by the captain’s chair next to Megatron as they talk with each other, a bright smile spread across his face. He lingers there, just watching as his Megatron holds the attention of Rodimus not sure what to do. The decision is made for him however when Rodimus seems to notice someone is staring at him and turns to look at Thunderclash who waves with a friendly smile. Rodimus’ optics flash with recognition before turning into a glare and he turns away to continue talking to Megatron without so much as a wave.

It hurts but he keeps smiling because at this point that’s all he knows to do as he stands in that spot, unable to move. A member of the crew eventually bounces up to him and nervously asks if he’d like to join them in the bar and he readily agrees, letting them drag him away from the bridge.

When Getaway approaches him and offers him a way to get Megatron off of the ship, he agrees almost all too readily.

* * *

Thunderclash walks through the Lost Light carrying the desk carved with the map that led them all into the most insane adventure he could ever possibly conceive. He recalls all the madness that Getaway caused and regretfully remembers his part in the horrors that Rodimus had witnessed. While he’s glad that Rodimus didn’t kill Getaway himself, Thunderclash couldn’t say he was sorry that the mech was dead. After pursuing Rodimus for so long, to have Getaway of all mechs be the one to quite nearly take Rodimus down for good was just insult to injury. Then there was the mess with the functionalist and how it had truly been a surprise to find out that Cybertron can transform. With all that behind them, he only hopes now that he can make it up to Rodimus and earn back his trust.

He walks in through the door and when Rodimus spots him, the brightest smile he’s seen on Rodimus’ face in a long time forms and Thunderclash is struck speechless. The others crowd around the desk once he sets it down but all he can focus on is Rodimus as they excitedly recall all of their insane adventures. Come what may, Thunderclash is more than confident in this very moment that so long as Rodimus will have him on his crew, he can be content.

* * *

The new universe comes with new adventures right along with it, each one more exciting than the last and they are never without anything to do. They’re all celebrating in Swerve’s after their latest success, chatting and cheering away. Thunderclash watches the crowd from a comfortable vantage point, a soft smile on his face. While happy with their exploits, he starts to long for the quiet of his hab as the nostalgia begins to ache more than anything. As he leaves, he bumps into someone who stumbles backward and Thunderclash just manages to catch them with an apology on his lips. As he straightens, he freezes. Rodimus is looking back up at him with laughter in his optics and not looking bothered in the least by the fumble.

“Oh, Rodimus, I’m sorry,” Thunderclash stutters, “I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rodimus shrugs, “I know it must be hard to see us shorter mechs from all the way up there.”

Thunderclash sighs with embarrassment, “Yes, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

“So, you’re leaving? Tired of the festivities already?” Rodimus bumps him playfully, flustering him further.

“I- yes, but um…” Thunderclash trips over his words and rubs the back of his helm.

Rodimus’ expression falls a little with concern and pokes Thunderclash, “Yeah? What is it?”

“Would you…” Thunderclash trails off then takes a deep vent, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Rodimus lights back up and starts pulling Thunderclash towards Swerve’s, “You know I can’t say no to a free drink.”

Thunderclash blinks in surprise then laughs as he catches up with Rodimus and they walk back into the bar together. He leads Rodimus to a booth away from a majority of the crowd and gestures for him to sit down.

“I’ll go get our drinks,” Thunderclash waves and walks to the bar before Rodimus can get a word in.

Swerve perks up as soon as he spots Thunderclash and rushes over to meet him, “Hey, Thunderclash! What can I get you?”

“Hello, Swerve,” Thunderclash is sure he’s got a goofy grin on his face but he doesn’t care, “Do you know how to make a Nightmare Spinout by any chance?”

Swerve whistles as he gets the things to make the drink, “Whoa, feeling a little adventurous tonight, are we? Yeah, I know how to make it.”

“Oh no,” Thunderclash waves, “It’s not for me. I’ll have my usual Blue Shock please.”

“You got it,” Swerve says happily, making the drinks with practiced ease, “Who’s the lucky mech, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Thunderclash takes the drinks from Swerve and gleefully replies, “Rodimus.”

Swerve’s mouth goes slack as Thunderclash turns to go back to Rodimus and he can’t help the laugh that rises from his chest. He sets the drinks down in front of Rodimus who looks at them with surprise as Thunderclash settles into the booth.

“How did you know…?” Rodimus stares at the drink in front of him then searches Thunderclash’s face for something.

Thunderclash taps his glass, biting his lips as the fire burns hotter than ever in his spark.

“Do you remember the Bismuth Track in Nyon?” Thunderclash swirls his drink around before taking a small sip.

Rodimus picks up his own drink, his expression distant as he tries to recall the name then he snaps back up and exclaims, “I used to do races on that track! Serious ones! People gambled on them and everything.”

His face falls and his voice grows quiet, “Wow, I haven’t thought about that in forever… I guess after all this time of trying to forget what I did to Nyon I forgot the good parts too.”

Thunderclash puts a hand on Rodimus’ shoulder, surprising the mech but Rodimus doesn’t pull away then he decides that’s not enough and wraps his arm around Rodimus’ shoulders. Rodimus remains quiet and sinks into Thunderclash’s touch, making Thunderclash’s spark flip in his chest.

“How did you know about that?” Rodimus looks back up at Thunderclash, curiosity and wonder softening his expression. 

“I watched you once,” Thunderclash swallows nervously, “You won that day and you looked so happy yet so surprised that you had.”

Rodimus’ optics widen, not quite believing what he’s hearing.

Feeling his spark burn and spin faster than it ever has, like a tiny sun speeding through the universe, Thunderclash continues on, unable to look away from Rodimus, “Then, by some chance, I bumped into you and asked you out for a drink. You ordered this cocktail at the bar and then you were a bit embarrassed. I thought it was bold and perfect, though. Just your kind of drink. Then we talked for what felt like forever and yet no time at all. Only later did I realize I hadn’t asked you for your comm frequency and I searched for you for days afterward but I never found you.”

“That-that was you!” Rodimus puts a hand to his head, his optics flickering back and forth as the memories come back to him until they finally land back on Thunderclash, “I can’t believe I forgot…”

Thunderclash offers him a reassuring smile, “After that night, I never stopped running after you. Hoping maybe one day…”

Rodimus shakes his head, pulling back a little in disbelief, “No, no way. You could have literally anyone you want. You can’t possibly want… me.”

He pulls Rodimus towards himself in a moment of bravery and rests his head against Rodimus’, then whispers, “It’s only ever been you.”

Rodimus goes still, staring up at Thunderclash, then, slowly, like a supernova moving in slow motion, their lips and Thunderclash can feel the fire Rodimus had ignited within him long ago rise to a roaring inferno. He pulls Rodimus in close and swears to the forces that be, to Primus, to any god listening, that he’ll never let go of Rodimus again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not seen in fic: Thunderclash telling Rodimus about his experience with the matrix and Rodimus realizing that a part of the feeling he had when the Matrix bonded to him was the echo of Thunderclash's love for him


	5. Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash meets Rodimus at an alien festival

Fireworks crackle above in the dark sky and a wave of cheers rise to meet them in the air. People of all kinds from all over the galaxy in the new universe they snuck into move around Thunderclash in a happy crowd. Languages of all different kinds spoken on different tongues dance across the way in excited chatter or in cries of salesmen hocking their wares. Vendors selling unusual alien delicacies at booths lining the decorated alley procured for the festival fill the air with strange yet pleasant smells born from the spices they use. Some are even catering to synthetic lifeforms, the sweet or tangy smells of the goodies they’re making mingle with the other scents to create just as strange a combination as the festival itself. Cloths of all kinds of materials and colors decorate the booths and flutter in the air either stretched overhead or as banners all illuminated by softly glowing lanterns. Walking into this place was almost like walking into a wonderland. None of them had any idea of what exactly all these people were celebrating but a world-wide festival with participants of so many cultures all coming together was hard to pass up. They certainly aren’t unwelcome here nor out of place with other synthetic life bobbing through the crowd alongside them.

Thunderclash does have some difficulty however with his size as he maneuvers through the crowd, mostly getting a few laughs from those he nudges his way carefully through. It also makes him a good target for the apparent tradition they have of throwing decorations on their fellow festival-goers so now he’s completely covered in different cloths and ornaments ranging from necklaces to bracelets. One kind, elderly woman of one of the four-armed, mammalian species around had stopped him and, while laughing, had shown him some of them were actual garments he was supposed to wear. In thanks, he’d given her the prettiest pieces on his person which she accepted and shooed him away to go and enjoy the festivities. While he wanted to take everything in, he had promised Rodimus that he’d meet him at the large stage at the center of this quadrant of the festival before the peak of the festivities.

Through no small effort, Thunderclash finally manages to make it to the large stage that is the most crowded part of the festival, making it even more difficult to move around. His optics scan the crowd for Rodimus among the shifting colors and various species but every flash of red and gold turns out to be a banner or well-dressed individual. As the lights begin to dim in preparation of the show and the crowd begins to quiet, Thunderclash sighs, losing almost all hope of finding Rodimus now. Even as the music begins with strong, mystical notes lifting to the air, his attention is on the crowd in a desperate search for Rodimus. Then, the dancers come on stage and the crowd raises their hands in a loud roar of cheers, moving his attention to the stage and his optics widen at what he sees.

Rodimus dressed in fine clothes that shift like water move with him as he dances across the stage, his blue optics shining bright. Thunderclash stands their completely entranced by his movements that seem to almost carry the light with him. In careful, elegant strokes, Rodimus twists his hands and arms in the air as the drums pick up, filling Thunderclash’s chest with a deep thrum. A blush rises to his face at the way Rodimus’ hips twist and carve through the air, pulling the glittering red fabric along with them. Rodimus’ optics catch Thunderclash’s and he smiles brightly as the crowd cheers loudly with the crescendo of the dance as the other dancers bring torches forward, twirling them through the air so the light flickers wildly over their forms. They crowd Rodimus, blocking him from view and once they pull away, he’s fully ablaze sending a surge of gasps through the crowd. As Rodimus twirls, the fire burns at the cloth on his frame, and the shining red turns into a burning gold that catches the light making it look as though he’s still on fire even though the flames have all gone out. The crowd roars as he leaps from the stage into the audience and they clear a path for him as he runs to Thunderclash who picks him up with the surge of the music and spins Rodimus around in the air.

The music, the people, and the color all fade away with Rodimus in his arms. All he can see now is Rodimus’ gleeful smile peeking through the fabric of the intricate headdress on his helm, the way the garments fan out around his frame, and glow of Rodimus’ optics. Thunderclash brings Rodimus down and close to him, pulling him into a kiss that’s soft, sweet, and electric with the intoxicating excitement of the festival. When they break apart, Thunderclash returns to his senses and is met with the loud cheers of those around them like the sound of waves crashing against a cliffside. Energon rushes to his face but Rodimus is quick to kiss it away, chuckling gleefully in Thunderclash’s arms.

“So, did you like my surprise?” Rodimus whispers conspiratorily right next to Thunderclash’s audial so he can be heard through the noise.

“I loved it,” Thunderclash whispers back then twirls Rodimus around again before setting him back on his feet.

Rodimus takes him by the hand and starts pulling him back towards the rest of the festival.

“Come on! We still have the whole night to enjoy the festival!” Rodimus shouts, pointing at the booths and Thunderclash happily runs after him.

Thunderclash watches as the gold cloth flutters around Rodimus as he runs ahead and smiles, spark warm and light and he knows with every part of his being that he’d follow his sun anywhere.


	6. Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm predictable. It's an arranged marriage au but! with a twist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a job now. Like a job-job so my time to write has been significantly cut short so that's what the delay was. I hope to do the last chapter soon but it may very well be much shorter.

Rodimus lounges on the marble barrier of the lush crystal gardens of the castle overlooking the city to watch the commotion happening below as a procession comes up the road towards the castle. As soon as he sees the banners however, he immediately groans and watches as Thunderclash, hero of the joined kingdoms comes stepping from his grand carriage to greet the common people who shower him with praise and crystal flowers petals. Seeing enough, Rodimus hops off of the wall and returns to his room where Minimus Ambus is there waiting to fuss over him.

“Where have you been?” Minimus huffs as he drags Rodimus to a mirror and begins buffing out even the tiniest of scratches, ever the perfectionist, “You know we have an important guest today.”

Rodimus sighs and shrugs on his cape then he straightens his crown only for Minimus to stand on a stool and straighten it himself.

“If I had known it was Thunderclash before all of this I would have never promised Optimus to greet them,” Rodimus grumbles as he walks out, his expression falling flat, almost serious.

Minimus rushes to catch up with him after putting everything away.

“That’s precisely why no one told you,” Minimus scolds in a low voice as servants walk past, bowing to both of them.

“I don’t like being tricked into doing this sort of thing,” Rodimus hisses back, standing to his full height and setting his gaze forward when they reach the door to the throne room.

Minimus gives Rodimus’ cape one last tug to get out a fold and takes that moment to whisper, “If you were better about this sort of thing we wouldn’t be reduced to such methods. Not mention how baffling it is that you actually feel distaste towards Thunderclash in particular. He’s a very fine mech and holds you in the highest of regard.”

Rodimus scoffs but doesn’t say anything more, knowing very well that the roll of his optics was enough to tell Minimus exactly how he feels. In all honesty, he knew why Thunderclash was looked on with such wonder and praise with all of his victories in battle and protecting his lands but Rodimus didn’t want to admit how jealous he was. While Thunderclash was held as a great warrior, he was held in near captivity as a precious jewel just because he was meant to hold the ultimate artifact of their people. It had taken no small amount of arguing to convince his fathers to allow him to train for combat and with little else to do, Rodimus thinks he’s gotten rather good with a sword but has never once been able to test himself. As a prince, he’s been restricted to spectating tournaments and jousts instead of participating in them and forget true combat. The only pride he’s ever been able to claim is being able to occasionally knocking Megatron onto his aft albeit with great effort. Did anyone outside of the castle know this? No. Everyone in the allied kingdoms knows of the great and glorious Thunderclash though.

The doors open and Rodimus has to shake himself from his negative thoughts so by the time he comes face to face with Thunderclash he’s not scowling and can school his expression into something more neutral. He’s introduced as he walks into the glamorous room with Optimus and Megatron awaiting him, pausing whatever conversation they were having with Thunderclash so he can join in. Moving his optics from looking at the floor to their guest, Rodimus is met with that same ridiculous smile Thunderclash has whenever he comes to visit their kingdom. It takes every bit of training in decorum Rodimus has to bow politely and rise with the grace drilled into him since he was a youngling. Optimus’ hand lands on his shoulder getting him to look up and find a grateful look in his optics. Rodimus nods ever so slightly, feeling a little bit better knowing Optimus acknowledges his effort before turning back to address Thunderclash. He suppresses a bit of surprise as he sees an unusual misstep in Thunderclash’s normally perfect demeanor, almost like he’s disappointed by something. Ire rises in Rodimus’ chest that he releases as best as he can in a hot vent.

“Welcome, Thunderclash, it has been some time since you’ve visited us,” Rodimus places a hand over his spark and recites the usual speech, “I hope your journey found you well and I am glad that fate has brought you back safely to us.”

Thunderclash unsheathes his sword, placing its tip to the floor, bends down onto one knee, and lowers his head. Rodimus flinches at the display, flustered by the overwhelming reverence Thunderclash’s little act shows, cursing him for throwing him off balance.

“My spark is warmed by your kind words, Prince Rodimus. It is good to see you well, your regal visage a sight to soothe my weary spark after such a rigorous campaign,” Thunderclash’s voice rumbles low and Rodimus almost believes he’s being sincere.

“Please stand, Thunderclash. You’re among friends,” Rodimus’ hands fidget in front of him and he continues in a softer voice, “You don’t need to do that. Please.”

Megatron coughs beside him and Rodimus has to fight back a glare, knowing full well that Megatron is laughing at him. Optimus places a hand on Megatron’s back, silently chastising his bonded who clears his intake and resettles himself but not before giving Optimus a mischievous wink. While all of this goes on, Thunderclash does indeed rise to his pedes.

Optimus addresses Thunderclash now, his hand lowering from its place on Megatron’s back, “You must be tired from your journey back. I am eager to hear your report on the conclusion of the struggle with the dissenters but that can wait until you have rested. We would like to invite you to dine with us this evening but until then, Rodimus can show you around the crystal gardens that he loves so.”

Rodimus stiffens and tightens his hands, looking back quickly at Optimus who only raises his brow at him, giving no room for argument.

Thunderclash begins to say something but Rodimus steps forward and says, “Yes, Thunderclash. Why don’t you join me?”

Without looking to see if Thunderclash was following him, he walks back out of the door and paces towards the gardens, only stopping once he reaches the fountain at the center of it all. He moves his cape out of the way and sits down with a heavy sigh, not bothering to straighten up as a familiar presence sets down next to him. A silent moment passes between them as the solvent in the fountain burbles happily behind them.

“Rodimus…” Thunderclash’s voice comes out hesitantly which is enough to get Rodimus to turn and look at him.

With his helm resting against his fist, Rodimus eyes Thunderclash carefully, “Yeah, Blunderclash? What is it?”

Again, to Rodimus’ surprise, Thunderclash grins in that way he does when no one else is around, slightly crooked and silly.

Thunderclash vents a soft laugh, “I’m glad you can still be yourself around me. I was worried back there that maybe I had lost that privilege.”

Rodimus rolls his optics and stares out towards the surrounding gardens, “It wasn’t you that I was worried about, it was everyone else in the room that had their optic on me that I was worried about.”

“Ah,” Thunderclash bobs his head and visibly relaxes, looking around the familiar gardens with Rodimus in silence.

However, as time passes between them, Thunderclash slowly becomes tenser and tenser until Rodimus can’t take it anymore and sits up to look at Thunderclash.

“What is it?” Rodimus asks flatly, making Thunderclash flinch.

Thunderclash clears his intake and shrugs. Rodimus waits but when Thunderclash doesn’t say anything he stands up and turns Thunderclash’s helm physically to get him to look at him.

“What is it?” he asks again, this time with more venom.

Thunderclash holds in a vent, clearly caught off guard by Rodimus’ actions, his optics wide and shining as he remains frozen in Rodimus’ grip.

“Uh,” Thunderclash starts, regaining his voice, “There has been a development in my life. I didn’t know whether you’d want to hear about it.”

Rodimus releases Thunderclash with a sigh and walks over to a raised potted plant to trace its translucent leaves.

“Well, you might as well tell me now since it’s weighing on you so much,” Rodimus calls over as he picks up a set of sheers.

“Oh, well I suppose…” Thunderclash gets up awkwardly and Rodimus can feel his optics lingering on him.

Rodimus cuts away a damaged leaf and tosses it aside, watching as it flutters to the ground. Thunderclash shuffles and Rodimus can hear his pedes pace quietly against the stone pathway.

“My family has decided that it’s time I take my position as head of my household now that we are in a time of relative peace which means…” Thunderclash stops as he pauses.

Rodimus hums inquisitively as he cuts away more damaged foliage.

“Which means that I need to get bonded and…” Thunderclash sighs and sits down again, “My family has picked out a mech for me, the son of the Sunwrite family who are renowned for producing skilled knights. Negotiations of the engagement are currently underway.”

The snip of the sheers in Rodimus’ hand cuts through the air and a delicate bloom falls into Rodimus’ other hand. He looks at it for a moment, twirling it between his fingers then walks over to Thunderclash and tucks it into the ornament keeping his cloak on.

“Congratulations,” Rodimus nods and goes back to tending the crystal flowers.

“‘Congratulations’?” Thunderclash stands again, the confusion in his voice gets Rodimus to turn back around.

“Yes, isn’t that normally what people say when someone gets engaged?” Rodimus gestures casually with the shears in his hand before setting them back to the side.

“It is…” Thunderclash trails off, looking off to the side.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Rodimus chuckles softly, bobbing his shoulders as he fans out his hands in a clueless way.

Thunderclash nods, looking down as he fiddles with the flower Rodimus put in his cloak. He’s quiet for a long moment, too long to be comfortable then straightens back up and smiles like he hadn’t said anything.

“Well, I’ve had a long journey, so I think I’m going to retire until dinner. I’ll see you then,” Thunderclash bows quickly before leaving to go to his usual quarters.

Rodimus scoffs then turns back to the plant he was tending and picks the sheers back up. He stares at it, his frown deepening with every second. In a swift motion, he cuts off every flower on the plant and throws the sheers aside. Staring at the flowers in his hand, he touches them softly before shaking himself and walking the opposite way Thunderclash had gone.

* * *

Dinner comes and goes and is completely uneventful. Optimus and Megatron talk enough so Rodimus doesn’t have to and Thunderclash responds to every question they present in his normal, pleasant way that made everyone in the room feel welcome. Rodimus watches from the sidelines, poking at his food and not eating much at all. A perfectly normal and frustratingly familiar dinner for whenever Thunderclash was visiting.

Rodimus sighs into his pillows, the excruciatingly long courtesies finally over and done with. He tosses and turns on his berth as it draws late into the night but no matter what he does, he can’t fall into recharge. The dim light of Luna 2 shines in through his window and lights up his entire room, frustrating him further as it taunts his sleeplessness. Rolling off his berth, he rises to his feet and stomps over to the window only to stop as his hands clench the dark curtains that border it. Rodimus sighs and lets his hands go slack to drag one down his face. Giving up on sleep completely, he wanders out into the halls and lets his pedes carry him somewhere, anywhere. Eventually, they wind up guiding him to the door of Megatron’s office and he stands and stares at the door for a moment before opening it to find Megatron sitting at his desk, working under low light. Megatron looks up briefly as Rodimus walks in only to return to his work, this hardly being an unusual occurrence between the two of them.

“What’s keeping you up at such a late hour tonight?” Megatron asks drowsily, his optics scanning over a datapad he’s probably only half-reading.

Rodimus walks over to the windowsill and slumps against it mutely, not ready nor exactly sure how to answer the question. Noticing this, Megatron sets the datapad aside on the desk and stands up to join him.

“Is it Thunderclash?” Megatron crosses his arms, observing Rodimus under that critical gaze of his.

“He’s getting engaged,” Rodimus mumbles, slowly moving his optics to the side to see Megatron’s reaction.

“Ah, yes, I heard about that,” Megatron says with a yawn, “So, what? Do you want to attend so you can have a chance to upstage him at his own bonding ceremony?”

Rodimus clenches his hand and grits his denta, too confused and frustrated to speak. The tension builds to a peak and he snatches the vase next to him to smash it onto the ground, venting hard.

“Ah,” Megatron nods and pats Rodimus’ shoulder.

What he’d just done catches up to him and he recoils, putting a hand over his face as he slumps against the cold glass of the window.

“Don’t worry, it’s just glass,” Megatron pulls Rodimus into a half hug, his thumb rubbing Rodimus’ shoulder reassuringly, “Maybe you should tell me what’s going through that processor of yours?”

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Rodimus mutters, “I’ve never done that.”

“Not in a long time,” Megatron shrugs, “You did it a few times when you were a youngling but that was when you were still afraid of your abilities.”

“Oh,” Rodimus whispers more to himself than anything.

After waiting a little while, Megatron pokes his cheek, getting Rodimus to look up at him, “What is it that bothers you so much about Thunderclash getting engaged?”

Rodimus puts his face in his hands and shakes his head, “I don’t know! I just know that I don’t want him to be engaged to some nobody noble I’ve never met! I don’t want to go to his bonding ceremony and watch while he gets bonded to that nobody. I hate it. I hate the idea of it.”

A long and suffering sigh makes its way out of Megatron’s vents that gets Rodimus to uncover his face.

“I had long suspected this but your father didn’t believe me,” Megatron shakes his head, “You don’t want Thunderclash to bond with them, yes? Is that it?”

“Well…” Rodimus thinks for a second, imagining the engagement being called off and how much relief that brings him, “Yeah, I suppose that’s it.”

“You don’t want him to get engaged to anyone but you,” Megatron says pointedly, darkly, with too much unsaid implication that Rodimus doesn’t quite understand.

Rodimus stutters, the image of Thunderclash proposing hitting the front of his mind unexpectedly making energon rise to his face.

“That’s not possible,” Rodimus argues, pulling away to pace across the room and wrap his arms around himself.

“You’re a prince,” Megatron reminds him, putting both of his hands on Rodimus’ shoulders, “You are far more desirable and valuable than the noble Thunderclash is being tied to if they are nothing more than a lordling.”

“I… He doesn’t want me,” Rodimus mumbles, giving up on denying his desire.

Megatron laughs sharply and turns Rodimus around to face him, “I know you won’t believe me so I won’t try to convince you of Thunderclash’s feelings for you but I do have one question to ask you: does he want to bond this lord?”

Rodimus opens his mouth to argue only to shut it and avert his gaze.

“No, he doesn’t,” Megatron accurately interprets Rodimus’ hesitance, “He doesn’t want to bond with this mech. Instead, he could bond you, which I believe will be much more appealing to his family.”

“They’re already in negotiations!” Rodimus throws his arms up helplessly, “I may be a prince but that’s not enough for someone to break their word and how would I even convince your advisors that it’s a good idea?”

“I assure you being a prince of a prosperous kingdom is more than enough to convince Thunderclash’s family to end negotiations and intimidate the other family enough to keep them from interfering,” Megatron waves casually as he continues, “As for our advisors, use that processor of yours and remember what we have taught you.”

Rodimus flexes his hands, his thoughts are a mess while lingering on the outskirts of his mind are the answers that he knows will give him exactly what he wants…

“I can’t do that,” Rodimus places a hand over his aching spark chamber, “I don’t… I’m not a player in the Game.”

Megatron studies him for a moment then sighs, “Being a prince means you have no choice but to be a player. I only ask that you consider my words.”

Rodimus turns and looks out the window, “I’ll think about it but I won’t make any promises.”

“Thank you,” Megatron bends down and kisses the top of Rodimus’ helm, “my incorrigible son.”

Rodimus scoffs, a soft smile finding his features, “Yeah, goodnight to you too, my oh so venerable father.”

Megatron pats Rodimus’ shoulder and leaves to go to his quarters, leaving Rodimus alone in the office. Rodimus opens the window to let the cool night air in and leans against the windowsill to look out over the gardens. The soft moonlight overtaking the crystal gardens makes it almost glow with an ethereal light and among the pale blue blossoms is the unadorned frame of Thunderclash standing in stark contrast against the soft bends and whorls of the plants around him. Rodimus watches him, spark burning in his chest as Thunderclash’s hand gently strokes the petals of one of the plants Rodimus so carefully tends to, tipping up the delicate bloom to see it better in the light. His mind wanders and the fantasy of Thunderclash doing the same to him overtakes Rodimus completely and before he knows it, he’s lost in it. As the fantasy reaches its peak, their lips about to touch, Rodimus shakes himself from it, surprised at himself for conjuring such a scene. He recoils from the window, putting his face into his hands and lets out a low groan. This is all making him feel so terribly miserable.

Despite inner turmoil, his optics return to Thunderclash standing alone in the gardens as he gazes up at the stars above. Rodimus lets his impulses carry him as he climbs up to hop the windowsill and land silently on the soft soil below. He walks to Thunderclash through the soft leaves of the brush around him, the broad leaves of gentle crystalline obscuring his frame from view. Thunderclash doesn’t hear him as Rodimus approaches him giving Rodimus ample time to begin to question what he plans to do. Then he’s standing next to Thunderclash and he realizes he doesn’t know what he wants to do or say. All he knows is…

“I don’t want you to marry that lord,” Rodimus’ voice breaks the tranquil silence, startling Thunderclash.

Thunderclash blinks at him, confusion written all over his features as he processes what Rodimus just said.

“You…” Thunderclash trails off then turns away, his movements lacking certainty and confidence.

Rodimus looks to the side, his spark whirling uneasily in his chest as he questions himself. His own confidence is rapidly dwindling with the prolonged silence between them, the gentle splash of the fountain nearby sounding disproportionately loud.

“Why?” Thunderclash keeps his hands on his hips, making the short distance between them feel like a chasm to Rodimus.

“I…” Rodimus’ voice crackles and he clears his intake in an attempt to cover up the emotions bleeding into his tone, “You should think about your options more, this was decided by your family, not you. They don’t know about every connection you’ve made, some of which are far more lucrative than this lord.”

“I- Rodimus, my prince, what is it you’re saying?” Thunderclash places a hand on his chest, his optics boring into Rodimus.

Rodimus takes a deep vent and folds his hand behind his back in an imitation of his father, Optimus, “I understand that your family would gain much from the marriage they’re currently negotiating from you but you have connections to my family, to me. It would make sense for me to bond the hero of the Allied Kingdoms and not another royal creating strain on the ties between the kingdoms. The two of us bonding would -in turn- greatly elevate your family and they will likely agree to the arrangement.”

Thunderclash listens to him with a flat expression as Rodimus continues talking; it’s a look that causes Rodimus no small amount of unease so his words become rushed. He doesn’t understand how Thunderclash could be so… disappointed. No, it’s more a kind of resignation, the sight of it sending a sharp chill into Rodimus. He suddenly notices the chill of the night air there in the gardens when he hadn’t before.

“In short, I’m saying you should marry me,” Rodimus finishes, his throat dry from nerves.

Thunderclash is quiet for a long moment, looking as though he’s not quite sure how to respond and -without a word- he turns to walk to the fountain and sits on the flat stone that makes up the base. Silence lingers between them and Rodimus feels that there’s something off between them. He can’t quite wrap his head around it but Thunderclash seems saddened by his proposal, hurt even. Cursing himself for his impulse, Rodimus opens his mouth to take back the offer but the sharp look in Thunderclash’s optics pulls the words from his intake.

“Very well,” Thunderclash nods and that’s the end of it.

Rodimus stares at him. He can’t pull his optics away from Thunderclash who seems almost grayed-out by the pale moonlight, a dull replica of himself. Thunderclash has agreed so Rodimus knows he should feel elated but instead he just feels… empty. His impulses had carried him into this mess so they aren’t particularly reliable for getting him out of it but even so it’s like a barrier that’s been between them all this time has suddenly fractured and shattered like a piece of blown glass that cools too quickly. Rodimus steps forward and takes Thunderclash’s face in his hands, watching as Thunderclash’s expression immediately softens into one of bafflement and he looks into those shining pools of bright red so sharp and clear in the night. Despite himself, Rodimus feels a subtle elation underneath the dread that he had somehow forced Thunderclash’s hand. Thunderclash has said yes and that has to count for something because that lord that Rodimus has purposely forgotten the name of won’t take him away.

“I want to kiss you,” Rodimus whispers and he can feel the delicate plating under his hands become warm, it makes his spark flip and feel like warm enegex is pooling at the base of his chest.

“I… Why?” Thunderclash whispers back, his voice burbling so it’s almost a stutter.

His optics are shining brighter now as though life were returning to them.

“Because- Well, I’ve wanted to for a very long time now,” Rodimus confesses, diverting his optics, “Now, I feel like I finally can… if you’ll let me.”

“I… Yes,” Thunderclash gasps, the dull resignation from before lifting from his shoulders, “I want you to. I’ve wanted you to for a very long time as well.”

Pinpoints of heat like embers bursting from a fire speckle Rodimus’ frame as his optics snap back to Thunderclash as he was not expecting that. The air becomes still between them with anticipation and -Rodimus doesn’t know when it happened- he’s straddling Thunderclash’s lap which he only notices when Thunderclash’s hand lands on his hip in a feather-light touch. Rodimus leans down so the tips of their noses brush, ogling the curve of Thunderclash’s mouth as his lips part slightly. Spark churning in his chest, Rodimus moves in slowly so their noses glide against each other’s until their forehelms meet gently in an affectionate press of plating. He can feel the hot puff of Thunderclash’s vents on his lips and the matching time of the rapidly pulsing sparks as their chests meet. All around him, Thunderclash is warm and secure all around him, blanketing Rodimus from the world. Rodimus makes a soft noise as Thunderclash’s hand squeezes his hip involuntarily, the plating on Thunderclash’s face darkens as he realizes what he’s done, met with a shy noise along with a nervous burble as he tries to formulate an apology.

Rodimus closes the distance, catching whatever words Thunderclash might have said on his lips in a soft press of a chaste kiss. Time stops. The world comes into complete focus on Thunderclash and Thunderclash alone as he meets Rodimus, molding their lips together. They sit like that for just a moment, sharing each other’s vents until they part with a soft sound that somehow is the piece that makes Rodimus realize what he’s just done. A thrill of excitement shoots through his lines and he pushes his lips against Thunderclash’s, this time delving further as he gently pushes Thunderclash’s lips apart with his own. He slides his glossa against Thunderclash’s, earning a choked-off moan that makes his head spin then catches Thunderclash’s lower lip between his and pulls back slowly, feeling the soft plating drag free from his lips. Rodimus opens his optics to find Thunderclash looking stunned with thick curls of steam escaping from his mouth as he pants causing a sudden wave of embarrassment to overcome Rodimus.

“Uh, um,” Rodimus says oh so smartly only to be caught in another heated kiss.

When they break, Rodimus finds that Thunderclash’s has one hand on his spoiler and an arm wrapped around his waist and realizes he’s never felt better.  
“I was afraid,” Thunderclash murmurs, peppering the underside of Rodimus’ chin with soft kisses that are very distracting.

“Of what?” Rodimus replies as he tilts his helm to give Thunderclash better access while hoping to entice him lower to his neck cables.

“That all this would be nothing more than politics to you,” Thunderclash answers between kisses and he takes the bait, kissing against Rodimus’ neck, “Just another part of the Game, another part of being a prince.”

“It’s part of it,” Rodimus confesses, holding the back of Thunderclash’s helm to steady himself while Thunderclash bites his neck softly, “I can’t escape being a prince but if I can use it to get the mech I love and keep him out of the hands of some nobody…”

Thunderclash stills, pressing his face against Rodimus’ neck.

“Can you say that again?” Thunderclash’s vents tickle the sensitized cables making Rodimus squirm.

“What? That I love you?” Rodimus laughs incredulously, the idea that his feelings weren’t met in full seeming so silly now, “Or that I’m a spoiled prince that can’t let go of what he wants more than anything?”

Thunderclash sighs a full body sigh against Rodimus and he can feel Thunderclash’s smile against the plating of his shoulder.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. And, just so there’s no confusion, I love you too,” Thunderclash laughs, ignorant to the jump that Rodimus’ spark makes.

He pulls Thunderclash’s helm from his shoulder and with a very intense gaze demands, “Say that again.”

Blinking with confusion, Thunderclash obliges him, “I love you.”

With desperation mixed with intense desire, Rodimus kisses him quickly before gasping, “Again.”

“I love you,” Thunderclash says with what air Rodimus left him only to be kissed soundly again.

“Again,” Rodimus whispers as they begin to vent hard.

“I love you,” Thunderclash repeats, pulling Rodimus close as they kiss, messy and desperate with their hands trailing each other’s frames like they aren’t sitting in the middle of the gardens in full view of everyone.

The next morning, a very disgruntled Minimus finds the two of them worse for wear and entangled among the brush of the garden. Megatron and Optimus just laugh.


	7. Adore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash comes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's v short but I just wanted focus on a little scene. Hope you enjoy.

The light of Luna 2 filters in through the window, scattering over the thin covers on the bed to cast the two forms on the berth in gray shadows. Thunderclash walks to the side of the berth, his frame weary from working the whole day and eager to get to recharge. Hovering over the beckoning surface, Thunderclash finds the still and relaxed face of Rodimus, deep in recharge and peaceful, almost happy with the soft upturn of his lips that part in a shallow in vent. Rodimus’ arm stretches out in front of him, curled around the tiny lump that makes their sparkling held tightly to Rodimus’ chest, their tiny hand clinging to the edge of the plating of Rodimus’ chest. As though sensing the new presence, their sparkling, so young yet that their plating is still a soft gray, scrunches up their face into a very serious expression of malcontent that does very little to affect with them being so small. Thunderclash laughs under his vents then reaches out slowly to gently rub his sparkling’s cheek with the back of his hand, soothing away the disturbance and returning them to a restful recharge.

Moving back, Thunderclash startles at the sight of two blue slits looking up at him and a very amused smirk settles on Rodimus’ face that makes Thunderclash roll his optics. He bends down, placing a hand against Rodimus’ cheek and presses a soft kiss against Rodimus’ lips that’s returned sleepily resulting in more a messy press of lips than a full kiss. Pulling back, Thunderclash lifts the covers enough for him to slide into bed, sighing with relief as his tense struts relax and his helm sinks into the pillow at the head of the bed. With what strength he has left, he wraps his arm around Rodimus and their sparkling to pull them close to himself so that his frame almost completely covers them, shielding them from the world and whatever would even think to dare to try to hurt them. Their sparkling makes a soft sound of protest at the movement that fades into a murmured babble as they resettle themselves between their creators. Rodimus hums contentedly as he snuggles into the warmth of Thunderclash’s chest and falls almost immediately back into recharge.

With his family gathered safely in his arms and the covers wrapped around them all tightly, Thunderclash falls into an easy slumber knowing everything is right with the world.


End file.
